Fraser River

With the white-water dancing on top

Of the rocks,

We arrived softly gushing to the edge of our camp

And as we rest, watching the salmon swim to spawn,

The Pacific was calling them

And throughout the night, we continued to watch

In the morning, we fished for breakfast

Catching nothing but a cold

As we drank the bitter coffee with empty stomachs

And stale cigarettes

The salmon continued the tradition

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