Sitting on the dock under the canopy of the Milky Way,
with a glass of scotch and a good cigar.
Trying to identify the constellations, and counting the falling stars.
The haunting call of a loon ruptures the silence.
The soul is at peace.
Sitting on the dock under the canopy of the Milky Way,
with a glass of scotch and a good cigar.
Trying to identify the constellations, and counting the falling stars.
The haunting call of a loon ruptures the silence.
The soul is at peace.
