The land I'm from, the midnight sun.
The northern lights in green and red
Out the door and into the foodchain
Glacial lakes quite lacking snakes.
Two kinds of frog.
Five kinds of salmon.
Meat does not come from the grocery store,
milk doesn't come from a box.
High noon is blinding or high noon is blinded.
Ice in its God-crafted, musical form.
Hoar frost is not an aging lady of the night
Sourdough is not a bread
Yankee and Confederate are so long forgotten
To one flag we uncover our heads.
Russians and Japs, and Yupiks and Tlingits.
The sea is the ocean,
and respects you in mirroring proportion.
College? Not here.
Life is for certain
God loves the land I am from.
Cars are trucks
and Trucks are eighteen-wheelers
and pilots are a real kind of man.
No border police. No race-riot bloodshed.
Only happy Canadians with Kraft mac 'n' cheese.
The land I'm from is the greatest,
Impartially -- go look it up.
No sun-tan lines
No beach-made bods.
Muscle, sweat, and heart. And love.
Give me an A, give me a K, give me a hip-hip-hooray.
Or not. Maybe not for you.
But for me. It's where I'm from.