That isolated Island,
surrounded by Icebergs,
Volcanoes erupting every day,
Lava flowing onto the ice sheets,
Brightening sky with its silent cry.
A magical place,
That’s why she loved it;
That secluded fairground,
Sleeping off the map.
An untouched carousel,
A musical one,
All to herself,
Her happy place.
Every day her voyage to the Island;
Her purposeful visit to light a candle,
In the dilapidated church,
Was to connect the Island to the mainland.
She lost her way on a full moon day,
Fell in love with the Islands seclusion,
Ever since she never left,
Even with a wooden canoe tied to the mangrove.
– EMILY PARKER