Past driftwood scattered on the shore, we watch the freighters in Vancouver Bay,
On a crystal clear sparsely clouded day, steel lockers rocking on a green ink sea.
No better view Misha, for you a longshoreman and free, my friend I rightly say,
But Misha we’ll push on until April’s end, and work hard beyond the ninth of May.
The snow still lies on those craggy mountains' tops, standing far off blue and grey,
Gulls swoop and swivel above Vancouver Bay, on dancing wings of an ocean waltz.
See Misha my friend, yet another cargo to unload, so for safe work we should pray,
For a fortnight after ninth of May, we’ll drink to our good health upon Victoria Day.
A. McTiernan
