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        FLIN FLON THE DIFFERENT
There’s small city up north near latitude fifty-five,
A place called Flin Flon where we did survive
Many toxic fumes from a chimney so very tall,
All told us it used to be worse they did recall,
But we did not mind the irritating cough you see
Most of the people were as kind as could be.
Built on bedrock of the pre-Cambrian age,
Parts covered with soft moss and wild sage,
A small city surrounded by forests everywhere
And lakes that glitter then freeze in the cold air.
Winter comes too soon and stays much too long,
But still Flin Flon is a very good place to belong,
Come and see the ice sculptors in many a yard
To judge the best one would be so very hard.
There is a special bus that takes you around,
Cheaper entertainment couldn’t be found.
The call of the north bids us to return again,
The beauty and wildlife, even winter’s harsh pain.
Still we can dream and remember with great care
Those dear friends in Flin Flon that live out there.

(Millicent) Ann Margetson 27 February 2004