Ode to an Island
The Isle of Wight was once my home, its coastline wild and free,
and memories of that time, well spent, will always stay with me.
Of Alum Bay’s, coloured sands, its needles, and a famous lighthouse stands.
Tennyson Down, the whale-backed ridge of chalk, where people go to attempt the
strenuous walk.
Ventnor, with its climate so often sought, is where the plants from around the world
were very often brought.
Bonchurch is a novel place where Dickens often stayed, where its said that the
characters from Copperfield were identified and made.
The gold thatched roofs of Shanklin sit high above the Chine. Then on to the
hideaway cafe, a favourite haunt of mine.
Sandown with its Culver cliff as white as Dover chalk, where visitors and the locals
meet to take their daily walk.
To Ryde we head, with its shifting sands, and its waters crystal clear, to buy a ticket
to travel by train along the wooden pier.
Of Osborne House, home of royalty, where Queen Victoria preferred to stay in peace
and harmony.
No place is quite as diverse as this diamond Isle of ours. Its residents are its
guardians, equipped with staying powers.
They live in isolation, and their voices never tire against the calls for change when
change is not required.
I loved my time on the island and hope that it will thrive, just like the white-tailed
eagle; its community will survive.