We stand where thousands stood before,
waiting for a train that comes no more.
This, the last remaining place
that stood for strength and trade and grace.
The glory of our past now turned – to art.
And have you seen our park,
the centre of our town, its heart?
The dolphins (dolphins??), leaping out of mud
and runways, please don’t tell me , oh my god,
an airport set down in the middle,
an ideal pairing for that great fiddle,
the mega campsite along the way.
At least they can’t remove our bay.
But tell, me, where, if we don’t pay
we can swim there any day?
This station stood on old rail track
and now we have its echo back.
This time a site for art and words,
and music played, but not by birds
that nested in the eaves for years.
Let’s hope our leaders have the ears
to listen to the treasure chest
of artists, people who know best
what skills we share, and hopes we hold
to see our town once more be bold.
A town of peace where culture thrives,
where art is central in our lives.
Shediac, the jewel of this great nation.
And it started in this old train station.