The Maple Leafs are falling
On foreign soil once again,
To be scattered cross the desert
By unforgiving Asian wind.
This dust is barren, unprotected,
Unlike his field of wheat;
The sand is so unlike his Maritimes,
No majestic Rockie peak.
He hears a lonely Piper now,
Black boots marching through the snow,
The warm drape of the Maple Leaf,
Tells him all he has to know.
Four winds have gently cast the Leaf,
To land on home terrain,
Flying freely there, he will declare,
His fall was not in vain.
by J.S. McGregor
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