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The Isle from a Storybook

Let me take you en tour a tranquil little bay,
On the gleaming nib of a quill pen of a strait.
Bleached by tinted aqua, a carpet spreads the sand,
Freckled by sea-lobster, salamander, clam.

Glassy-eyed you will stare  through a silver print,
That folds and creases to be knotted at the glaring tint.
A blend of mauve and nautical blue, a well-embroidered piece,
Rippling on the 'golden carpet' with 'seam-less' ease.

With commendable sang-froid the waves hold their jittery nerve,
And with the mildest chide give way to vessel, whale and more.
At the threshold of the tete-a-tete of the cruisers with the bay,
Thou behold a blossoming hope for company for the day.

When the weather-beaten face that seemed an enigma at first glance,
Begins, from the blackened-eye to the 'aye,' to beguile you out of trance,
And sides the smoking salmon with 'mincemeat' of your 'tongue,'
Aye, aye, with the captain and his folk, the hours with happiness have rung.

And when tra, la, la, hey diddle diddle, out of the blue, you fish out a fiddle,
Those that you have held in awe, nestle back to soak in melody raw..
Each note that ripples off the blue floats to take on a fresh hue..
Drifts away and beyond the hill, caressing bud and summery till...

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