The yellow gorse flows golden
Blending with the craggy rocks below
That rumbling seas applaud
As seagulls rest their weary wings
And with the thaw of winters frost
In a time of birth...
The flowers raise their pretty heads
To welcome all that summer brings
The cliff path winds around the isle
A view transformed with every turn
No artist ever captured
With a weak and mortal hand
As only Mother Nature
With her graciousness and presents
Could recreate the generous gift
The true designer planned
Ian Duquemin
