Georgian

 

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The rock has left a gap

And a crack and a niche

And some lichen for nutrition

That my tendrils barely reach.

And the sun draws out my best

Ere it sets into the west.

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The wind has left its mark

Since the day my green arose

And it pushed my every upreach

To an odd and eastering pose.

And the sudden lightning crack

Took a neighbour at my back.

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The waves have measured time

As their force invades the shore

And they crash and ebb a rhythm

Heard a million times before.

And the white gulls ride the spray

‘Til they float at end of day.

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And so this little isle

I command as epochs pass.

First the beaver, then the hunter

Then the paler face at last.

And so few, my tales have heard.

Just the rock and wind and bird.