The Island

Shipwrecked in the storm she came,
Without a home, without a name
The sea which cursed and spat and roared
Drove her gently to my shores.

On the burning sand she lay
And the hostile heat blasted her way
I grew my leaves out high above
To shade her from that deadly sun.

Her weary features needed care
But were threatened in that scorching air
Her limbs made fragile by the sea
That still was thrashing distantly

So I grew my trees and grew them tall
And she would hide beneath them all.
Then plenty fruits grew for her to eat
And she would pick them from my trees.
I collected rain, that fell from high,
In a lake upon the mountainside.

But when passion flowed with renewed life
And light returned to forsaken mind.
Her eyes still looked to the pointed wave
And out from my perfect paradise

I had made myself a home for her
My trees too tall would block the light
From other plants which had yet grown.
The water from my drinking pool
Would run with spades across my shores.

But she took the boat, which I had saved.
And she went out to the sea
Which cursed
And roared.