Searching up lake through the years.
We know how the season's ebb flow.
Pleasing each prize that appears.
Unearthed, untainted treasures,
Panoramic through the glass.
Spent centuries our vision unmeasured.
Strange are the creatures that pass.
TV'd on this tube on evening,
Splitting the waves with its bow,
We thought our eyes deceiving,
Furrows, the white-waters plow.
Voyageurs bending their paddles,
Needing a pipe-stop they seemed.
Men made by the fur trades battles
Poured each a drink as we dreamed.
- William Malewitz