The Millionaire's Island Poem by James Fitzpatrick

Where a stray breeze shakes the shimmer on the sands, you stand alone leg high on a custard coloured Doon. Below you, a gapping greenish mouth chews away another sand bar, gobbling it's gold desert with seaweed dappled teeth. As the east sun meets a constable sky, you bask in the admiration of nature, as the twisting surf washes away the day before. It's a grand life, you suppose.

here you can walk for miles, days, without meeting a single person. You are surrounded in a vast expanse of Sun, lawn and hilltop, all emptied, at your request. As you climb the craggy mounds, seagulls swoop and shrill, swirling around their tiny homes, then sit and watch you stroll on by. To them, you're just another tourist on their island, stranded, lost without your bottle.

you reach your castle paradise, perched precariously on the rocky edge above the birds, the teeth, and edible hillocks, where you spy the salty monster below chewing at the edge. It creeps in more each day, grain by grain, wave after wave, till soon the seaman's winds no longer merely blow, but howl in heavy heathen gales.