Immigrants
We became citizens
In the sugar bush
Where trees, like us
In times of change
Chose to be moved
Deeper into the cold
Climbing mountains
To make their last stand
As others
Lent forty frigid winter nights
For each warm eastern afternoon
To distill the amber sweetness of awakening
For leaves
Whose lifeblood claimed us
Whose silhouette named us
For Canada
Unlisted
Why do I write? Perhaps in order not to go mad. Or, on the contrary, to touch the bottom of my madness. - E. Wiesel