Mayor Of Island Towne Poem by Edmund V. Strolis

Seabirds stir my slumber, the sweet peace I was under
Lazy easy yawn, a hint of morning from brother sun
Many weeks or maybe months have passed with ease
Memories have flown away, carried with the breeze

On these shores is a culture of crabs, that's enough for me
Last night's treasure of shells revealed, as far as I can see
I would not trade the dullest one for common company
This hammock paradise, spread beneath familiar trees

On my chest, last evening's fancy, a book of Emerson
Words of independence, non-compliance, self-reliance
Theoretical and clumsy once and rare as a blue diamond
Here in this sandy Shangri-la it all makes so much sense

From these pages, the Artful Dodger or Jean Valjean arrive
Richard the third, Tom Sawyer and Kilgore Trout are alive
Adventures enough, replacing the modern drama I survived
Each day bringing joyful release as true as the rising tides

No gadgets buzzing or city lights to hide this Milky way
The noise that filled the human hive drips with honey now
On the island toes in sand, Possibly December or even May
Population one, poet, pauper and mayor of my island towne