Log Cabin Chronicles
Address to a puck
DAVID MACLENNAN
Fair eh, your honest hockey place, Great chieftain of the scarring face; Where between the boards skates to lace: Your rubber froze, Darting dangerous quick of pace, In slap shots rose.The crackling ice on which you slide, Chased by padded boys well applied; In loss or victory you decide: Yours' not to let, Where shots be accurate or wide, Streak towards the net. This disc hits corners left and right, Can cut you up with ready slight; From in behind burns the goal light: Whoa bulging twine, This the lonely net minder's plight, Guards the thin red line. Quick hands and fast of foot to flop, Who are said to be o'er the top; On grenades hurled they're known to drop: And fallen beneath, With bodies bruised, brave lads will stop - Trading precious teeth. Yes, your powers make cold winter fair; In boyhood dreams young and old share, With pride our true colours to wear: On Habs or Leafs stuck, This O Canada's common prayer - Blessed be a puck.
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Copyright © 2004 David MacLennan |