My last campfire cold
But spear a few more waves
On the trail of growing old
Sometime when the canoes are beached
And the Shadows line the shore
Remember me for the life I lived
For with a paddle I was never poor
I was born to pull these waters
With the never ending tide
To reach the destination
With my strong Native Pride
In a land of waves that run
Toward the far off sea
I found a love
that would forever remain with me
I have experienced a life
Of Honor, Dignity and Pride
For every Journey was a teaching
Each day came a new tide
The Canoe my sacred vessel
My compass at the bow
I sit and let it guide me
I'm in a better place now
So stir the campfire proudly
Beside the rocky shore
Remember a man who loved the water
A Puller who is no more
My maps are packed away now
The canoe still and dry
My final wish...Oh keep this land sacred
For a puller such as I
When I must leave this great Ocean
Bury me close to the Wave
And let my canoe and my paddle
Be the only marker on my grave.
By Gloria Walkus-Wilson March 2009
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