There was a word of sorrow, a word of grief at first,
The world was in the throes of its creation,
Huge fragments of the land flew off to God knows were from burst
Converting into islands in succession.
And wandering about, unloaded, with no banners,
Through centuries and ages and millions of long years,
A hermit and a roamer, the island changed its manners
But had preserved the soul and the nature of the earth.
There was a word of sorrow but then there came a hush.
The Earth was now inhabited by sailors.
Towards the islands up the steps they made a frenzied dash
And called the islands "ships", - (they liked the alias).
The shore is keeping hold of the islands near its border;
So one day or another they’ll come back to the strand.
The islanders have set up their special, naval, order
Regarding their law and the honor of the land.
Will scientists forgive us for parallels we draw,
For tackling theories too freely, rather?
They say there was a word in the beginning. Well, if so
It certainly was "sea" - not any other.