British Virgin Isle
Derived from heaven, a gift from god,
August waters, clear as the sky.
Such stately beauty, worthy of laud.
The sand soft as clouds, from way up high.
Few years back, we took a sojourn.
Vast and grand the islands stood reticent,
Like statues and mountains, holding prowess.
Infatuated, I had no concern.
After a week our time there was decent,
The islands gifts still seemed boundless.
Though knowing all things must meet their end,
I forced a goodbye to this new friend.
Copyright © Lorenzo Migliara | Year Posted 2016
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