Say what you may
Make claims galore
There is no doubt
Of the effects on our shore

The program drove
The old and settled
To relocate against their will
Away from home and test their mettle

It’s one thing to expect the young
To move away to foreign clime
But something else to force the old
So deeply rooted in place and time

But could you not have left the old
To live out life in peace and quiet
They needed not the host of services
And would be content with meagre diet

So sad to see that uprooted lot
So insecure and at great cost
Longing for a safe return
To their appointed homeland lost

Without a doubt the program has
Left its mark on one generation’s masses
The effects will not be gone until
That fine old generation passes

So please do not make light of this
And say it was ordained by the old
When we all know it was the price
Paid dearly in the name of gold

A poem on the devastating effects of resettlement on that dear old generation of fishermen uprooted from many isolated communities along our coasts.

  Submitted By: John Cornick