The rock has left a gap

And a crack and a niche

And some lichen for nutrition

That my tendrils barely reach.

And the sun draws out my best

Ere it sets into the west.


The wind has left its mark

Since the day my green arose

And it pushed my every upreach

To an odd and eastering pose.

And the sudden lightning crack

Took a neighbour at my back.


The waves have measured time

As their force invades the shore

And they crash and ebb a rhythm

Heard a million times before.

And the white gulls ride the spray

‘Til they float at end of day.


And so this little isle

I command as epochs pass.

First the beaver, then the hunter

Then the paler face at last.

And so few, my tales have heard.

Just the rock and wind and bird.


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