like the burdened shoulders
of a visionary watching the
vision of his passion fade
'what is necessary is not necessarily
good' says the wind as it
moves the flag aside, passing
with the memory of resistance,
the recollection of the desire
to make something distinguished
and like George Grant
witnessing the dream so slowly
extinguished, a northern fire
smouldering like so much smoke and ashes
rising now falling free to mark
the mourning few and leave
the shredded flag to hang askew
over a hill pondering the loss of
the true north and its strength
given over for weakness.
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