Canada has its legends, some are great and some are small The mainland has Paul Bunyan, Newfoundland has its own John Paul Born in Badger, Newfoundland, in the 1928^th year He lived a life of adventure, the unknown he did not fear.
His father was of the Mi'kmaq band, his name it was Frank Paul His mother born Elizabeth Pike, who answered to his call Eight brothers and five sisters, a fine crew one would say Difficult to raise in any time, a handful day by day.
John served his country as a lad, to Korea did he go And received a medal for his brave acts amidst the fighting foe While in the army he became a cook and provided many a feast That was fit for man or King, in the west or in the east.
Then John became his own man and lived a married life Finally deciding to settle down, taking Madonna as his wife Together they raised their children, in good times and in bad And they grew to young men and women with the love of mom and dad.
As a logger he worked hard, but trapping was his trade He roamed the interior far and wide, on the trails his father made He love for the outdoors always shone in everything he did When hunting, trapping, fishing too, the earth became his bed.
While living home in Badger, his bravery did not end For into Exploits River he came to the rescue again From the water he saved a boy and returned him to his breath A plaque he received for this deed, a treasure to him yet.
Now you’ve heard of Davy Crockett, the man from Tennessee Who supposedly killed a wild bear when he was only three John Paul performed a similar task, a bear he did dispatch Not only that, he killed a moose, both falling to his axe.
John spent his time a-roaming the land where he did dwell Retired from Abitibi-Price, a company he served well He travelled to Tuck’s Valley and the mouth of the river Lloyd Where his family ancestors once did roam to trap for food and hide.
Roebucks was his pride and joy, you’d find him there most time Amidst the forest that he loved, it gave him peace of mind A welcome he’d always have for you, no matter who you were He’d greet you with a friendly smile and hold your friendship dear.
It was in the year of ’92 that John Paul did retire To spend his time where he loved best, around a blasty fire Where the birds were chirping softly and loons did mournful cry As the winds blew across the land and the sun set ‘neath the sky.
In his cabin on Red Indian Falls he meant to spend his days Where the river flowed amidst the birch while reflecting glistening rays His spirit now takes his place, where the mist rolls up like fog For John has gone where his ancestors roam, he’s crossed his last great bog.
Ed Power Grand Falls Windsor, NL