paradise reprieve

little land ‘pon which i stand, is barely ‘nough for one,
yet bountiful and blessed like no place under the sun;
my little isle, of humble stead, whose limits reach beyond my head,
for all i see is governed but by that which i have read.

with golden shores of sun streaked sands upon the white that is this land,
how could lush green not grow like thoughts that wished for by all God’s good men?
hark! come the mores, with ill intent, the pirates, ruffians, thieves;
who knows what have their ill intents, and what they’ve up their sleeves,
but come, too, do the merchants, politicians, priests abound,
for where there’s gold, there’s glory too, and fortune to be found;
but with a sigh, i beg their leave, despite their fore or fun,
this little land, ‘pon which i stand, is made for only one.

so take the mores, by shiploads of the gleaming gems and stone,
i bid them well, as do farewell, that they leave me alone;
here with my peace, in company of all that i deserve,
to preach, to play, to lie and lay, with fatigue or with verve.

but once upon a crescent moon, that yellow, blue or red,
a special someone comes along in lieu of a mores’ stead;
to envy some who have their isles embanked for something - someone - bold,
indeed, it is for them to choose, to wisp, to wade, to hold;
but can’t i see, beyond the bend, that straight which light should curve?
we all accept the love we think we ought, and do deserve.

from shore to shore, and back again, i’ve lived and loved this land,
even when no envy comes for whom and who could stand;
upon this island, quite contrite, like webs of fiction spun,
oh, little land ‘pon which i stand, ’tis only meant for one.