FLIN FLON
Clayton Anderson Bell
“What is it that keeps holding us here,
Like a magnet to minerals so near?”
Land often covered by crystals of snow
It’s minus forty and nowhere to go.
Something holds all in a powerful grip
Challenging each not to falter or slip.
Never look down and never look back,
Weary the load, we cut you some slack.
Pushing northward in canoe or by trail,
Feet often tire but hearts never fail.
The love of the land gripping you fast,
Hands now callused by powder and blast.
Dare to be counted for here we call home,
No need to ramble, no need to roam.
Safe and secure, rise upwards or down,
All are guardians of our cherished town.
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