There Was An Island...Ii Poem by robert dickerson

And enjoyed their work. They loved bright colors; wove, spun,
spoke a strange mellifluous language, laughed alot,
forgave much, didn't know what money was,
didn't have cell phones or I-Pods or Google,
and, above all, didn't have Internet access
and prayed to the god who all agreed was born there.
Everything was sacred and had a secret meaning
that only the elders knew, and they would tell it you
if you asked them nicely; only
if you got sick did the quiet carousal shudder to a halt.
In that case they put you in a boat
and off you flew to shore where you either died happy
for living so sensible a life,
or got hypnotized back to health and returned to the party
that rocked so pretty you didn't even know it was Life.
Those about to be born were similarly fetched ashore
because the rule was 'No Pain',
and this was before the days of epidurals.
It all seems a little odd by our standards,
but, hey, who am I to say, those were the rules.