Captain Cur (England)

Small hands entwined, robed lily white,
I rowed our small craft failing light,
she lay infused, entombed in grace
I stroked the oars with hardened face.

Stood the Isle in mystic view
ramparts windows, dark shadows grew,
pale mountain carved stone walls duress
encircling the entrance to her breast.

Twilight craving end days delight
narrow channel pervades my sight
water streams through outlined shore
I row softly through deaths arched door.

Immaculate sands foot falls dew
plush isle bands repeat tree lined mews,
stone unending rise like sun night praise
infects my soul with pinpoint rays.

I carry her on rock ledge steps.
I rest her on green altars crest.
The muse said if she ever died,
I must bring her to Isle Curdi.