My Kempt - ville Creek's gol - den and sil - ver and am - ber
G      C       D      E        G       E   C     A    F   C     G    E

Through Wild Rice and Cat - tails wide un - der the sun.
    G       C      D      E    G     E     C     E    E    D    C

From Cran - ber - ry Lake with the ech - o of Loon calls
G      C      D     E     G      E    C    A   F  C    G    E

Through Bish - ops to meet the South Branch where they run.
      G       C      D   E    G    E      C        F       E      D    C


(the tune changes a bit for this chorus verse,
using a higher octave A, B, C at first)

My Kempt - ville Creek's gol - den and sil - ver and am - ber,
C       A        B       C       G    E    C   A    B    C     G     E

And ro - sy and green 'neath the blue of the sky.
  C   A   B     C    G      E       C    F   E  C   D

It's brown and it's sa - ble, the turt - les are bas - king,
  G    C     D    E    G   E   C    A      F   C   G      E

I'll rest on my pad - dle where the Tree Swal - lows fly.
G   C    D   E    G    E        C         F     E       D    C


(all the verses)

KEMPTVILLE CREEK ANTHEM

My Kemptville Creek’s golden and silver and amber
Through Wild Rice and Cattails wide under the sun.
From Cranberry Lake with the echo of Loon calls
Through Bishops to meet the South Branch where they run.

My Kemptville Creek’s rosy with leaves of the lily,
And streaming with long silken tresses of green.
Reflecting the blue sky it slips over dams where
The Beaver has deepened pools clear as black tea.

My Kemptville Creek’s sable, ’neath low boughs of Cedar
It slips along swiftly, as silent as glass,
Reflecting red Dogwoods and banks of green rushes,
It ripples across with the Water Snakes’ path.

(chorus)
My Kemptville Creek’s golden and silver and amber,
And rosy and green ’neath the blue of the sky.
It’s brown and it’s sable, the turtles are basking,
I’ll rest on my paddle where the Tree Swallows fly.

My Kemptville Creek’s golden and silver and amber
Through Wild Rice and Cattails wide under the sun.
From Cranberry Lake to the echo of Loon calls
Through Bishops to meet the South Branch where they run.

(Aleta Karstad, May 1993)

My white Kemptville Creek is as smooth as a highway,
The Swamp Maple path, the marsh-dwellers’ abode
Where Otters & Mink, and the Muskrat & Beaver
Briefly emerge on the Coyotes’ road.

My Kemptville Creek is anoxic and yellow
Sealed under the ice when the branches are bare.
Most fishes let go and drift down with the current,
While Mudminnows forage for bubbles of air.

My Kemptville Creek’s emerald green in the winter,
When snow and hard ice keep the air from the stream.
Open a window, and wavering pond weeds will
Show you the summer as if in a dream.

(winter verses, FWS, 1999)

My Kemptville Creek’s golden and silver and amber
Through Wild Rice and Cattails wide under the sun.
From Cranberry Lake with the echo of Loon calls
Through Bishops to meet the South Branch where they run.