Poem: The islands from eight miles high

Beneath a cerulean blue chiseled frieze,
The islands recede into the sea
Or settle to the sea floor

Like an archipelago of Atlantises.
Islands come and go,
Bobbing up and bobbing down

Like corks lost in the ocean,
Drifting the seven seas
Threading through seven continents

And millions of other islands and straits.
They sail along, cresting the waves
Beneath gathering clouds

And flocks of birds
Circumnavigating the globe,
Shuttling from landfall to landfall.
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