MY SERVICES

The Lonely Immigrant

Out in the harbour, the big ship is waiting,

Waiting to sail, at the turn of the tide.

I stand on shore with heart almost breaking

Forever, it seems, the sea must divide.

The home of my childhood grows ever dearer.

Dear friends I loved in that long, long ago

Time only makes my memory clearer

Too late, I know now, how I loved them all so

For distances ever enchantment lends

Sometimes too late, we find

The greenest fields, like the truest friends

Are the ones we leave behind.

By Gwen Strasman (1883-1955)

(My Paternal Great Grandmother)

She wrote this lovely poem in Salmon Arm, BC