The First Loon

There’s a loon calling,
calling from down the bay.
He sounds so hauntingly lonely
As if he’s lost his way.

I don’t hear any answer
To his plaintive cry
His wail is now a tolling
so sad, now low, now high

The sky is growing darker
A darkening dusk is near
And still he calls more loudly
All in vain I fear.

A cold north wind is blowing
A chill is in the air
The ice edge is now black as coal
The sun’s warm rays are rare.

I sorrow for this traveler
I hope his mate’s close by
I pray she hears his plaintive calls
Before he tries to fly.

Out in the broadening bay mouth
I hear a distant voice
Perhaps I am mistaken
The wind is shrill and moist.

Again I hear the caller
His pace has quickened some
I think He’s hearing voices
Looking where it’s from

And yes, I hear it once more
That long and sultry moan
On the icy wind a blowing
Above the cold ice groan


And though the light is failing
And cold eyes start to tear
I think I see a tiny speak
Above the bay appear.

I think our bay bound fellow
Has spied the bird as well
For now his cries increasing
Have grown into a yell

On she comes through fearful gale
Wing sounds rhythmically beating
Her dark eyes searching murky shorelines
Through the dusk now fleeting

Light now gone hides back bay waters
On set wings she’s gliding
To land among the Lilly pads
His urgent cries now subsiding

Though the wind still roils the water
the back bay waves receding
the Loon pair glides in softer calmness
the last mauve day glow fleeting

I don’t hear their silent speaking
Night brings quiet to the shore edge gloom
They’ve tucked into some quiet pocket
To float among the lily blooms

Perhaps tomorrow will bring fair skies
And just a breeze will blow
But for this nights hours passing
Their tired strength will grow.

The morrows light will come quickly
For distant waters they’ll take flight
But for now, they float quietly dreaming
Loon dreams through the night