Out from the closet when it covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whichever coat may be
For the unconquerable cold.
In the fell clutch of feathers
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the stuffings of avian members
My hood is furry, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of zips and pockets
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the wind’s rockets
Finds and shall find me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
How much they cost to produce,
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my Canada Goose.
