Canadian River
Within a gorge of grey, sharp rock
A river rushes, tumbles, swirls;
No sky reflected in its depth,
No life, no bird its wings unfurls.
No trees or bushes on its banks,
But bare, flat rocks above, below;
Yet in the crevices in June
The tender, gallant bluebells grow.
--Edith Granger Hawkes.
Received honorable mention (February 1941) in the League of Western Writers Poetry Contest, sponsored by Seattle Branch No. One.