Lights,
Two dozen,
Flicker like stars,
Pretty in the night,
Just a village all alone,
Must be some small island,
Lost jewel in sleeping tropic seas,
I wonder how many people live there?
Do they have television and high speed Internet?
They don’t need them, with such skies nightly overhead,
Not a sound, but the murmuring engine of our vessel,
And the gentle rush of its ever-churning wake,
So passing by, we leave the hidden treasure,
More precious since seen by few eyes,
It drifts from view behind us,
And sinks into the horizon,
Now just a memory,
To carry fondly,
We travel,
Onward.
© 2018 MILES VENISON ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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