Sighing, he shouldered the old duffle bag
And sauntered down the gangway
Free at last, from the ship's cramped quarters,
He smiled, at the crisp, cold, new day!

His feet, planted firmly on the new soil,
Made him want to shout and raise his hands,
`Hello, new world, I, Sven, have made it!'
Others, mumbled, ` More foreigners to divide the land!'

A new land full of promise and scarcely civilized,
With Indians, vying to sell their wares,
Their hands, `signing' their language, `tainted with
broken English,
Spotting the livery, he decided to buy a horse there!

His belly, rumbled, as the supper bell rang,
He looked a `peculiar' sight, with his windblown blonde hair,
Smelling sour and sweaty, many weeks growth on his chin,
But he'd survived! Others had died of scurvy and sicknesses in
the stale air!

With days adrift, without wind to unfurl the sails,
And angry squalls that came out of the fog to surprise,
Those with weak stomach's were tossed and pitched about the
floundering ship,
And someone shouted `plague' and some were sent overboard,
before his eyes!'

His belly would stay empty, another day unsatisfied,
For the horse, was an unplanned for costly price,
Across the street, stood a bustling, large general store,
With his last few coins, he bought an axe, tools and a fine hunting
knife!

Some lard, flour, dried beef and a few country cakes,
Gunpowder, an old bow fiddle and some leather strips,
But most important, he had purchased the `deed' to his own
land,
Towards the open range he rode, distant, now that fateful ship!

As he rode, he marveled at the scope of the land,
Huge timber trees, stretched out their `necks' into space,
White wolves howled out in mourning, their cries echoing the sound,
And eagles circled in greeting, wings dipped in `mute' grace!

Camping out, he took the old fiddle and started to play,
The tune reminded him of Papa and his home,
How Ma had squeezed extra hard, as the tears welled up in her eyes,
As he walked up that gangplank, he'd never felt so alone!

With his saddle for a pillow, he bedded down for the night,
Looking at his two strong hands, he smiled,
On his land would stand, a wood-pine Cabin,
Ample reward for enduring those difficult and treacherous overseas
miles!

© Jane Richer<o:p></o:p>

 Nov. 2002<o:p></o:p>