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The Log Pilot

Edward S. Sorenson

Adown the long river,
    Deep-browning with mud,
The trees bend and quiver
    ‘Fore the rush of the flood;
Now standing, now stooping
    Where snags lie in scores,
The pilot goes swooping
    ‘Tween scrub-covered shores.

A wild merry course is
    The swift-running stream,
Where creeks add their forces
    Abaft and abeam,
And rapids and narrows
    Are thick with the spoil
Of the water that harrows
    The rich river soil.

Huge logs of red cedar
    Roll, tumble and turn
With miles ‘tween the leader
    And the giants astern.
Through green boughs ashiver,
    Through flotsam and spray,
‘Tis a joy on the river
    When the logs dash away.

Ever watching behind them,
    Releasing the strays
From lianas that bind them
    In scrub-tangled ways,
Day-long he’s careening
    Around the long bends,
For the tidal head steering
    Where the lumber race ends.

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