Though Northern Lights blaze Denali's hid head,
Though Sitka's bright forests verdantly wait,
Though Fairbanks lies ---- in the Northwest stead,
Patient, love waits in the southeastern gate.
Old stories are told by poets unknown
Of men striking out on voyages long,
But I never thought nor certainly planned
To ever become such a man.
On a bright Monday morning, sometime in the spring,
When the flowers were full with their blooming,
I turned my face to the gates of the North
And with my uncle set forth.
We journeyed long, and we journeyed far
Constantly eyeing that great Northern star.
Eight days it took, much shorter than most,
To gain our Northernmost post.
Chicago Twin Cities, Dakota's Bad Lands
Montana's prairies, Alberta's fair band,
Calgary, Edmonton, upwards and out.
"North to Alaska" our shout.
Our nights were bracing, barely not freezing.
All but two days we woke with it raining.
The tent it was sound if you didn't make noise.
Don't touch it; it might get annoyed.
The Al-Can stretched forth from Canada's frost.
For 900 miles, the road rarely was crossed
Except by a moose, magpie, a mouse, or owl,
Whose presence increased the North's
In Tok, we ate salmon, Denali's caribou.
The cities were full of the latent fast food,
But mostly in diners staffed by some friends
We ate plain food, with pie in the end.
The mountains were ghosts rising out of the mist
Like royalty out for a late evening tryst.
The singers of old gave them fanciful names
That none now can claim.