Tuesday, November 13, 2012

The Island (a poem)

It was an island, entire and of itself,
Adrift from the continent, away from the main.
Its clod was washed away by the sea,
And Europe was the less.
But the promontory stood, the people continued on their way.
The bell did not toll,
Though its soil was richly planted.
To be diminished is in the eye of the beholder.

1 comment:

Mr. Mcgranor said...

Stranded... 'Life's a beach'.