The Tickle ‘tween the Islands Change,
For north and south, denotes the range;
A channel for the boats that plied,
Their trade in fish, where folks abide.

Not far from Fogo or Farewell,
This Tickle has a tale to tell,
Of ships and masters, manning sail,
And of disasters, in a gale.

Tads swimming in the Tickle’s turn,
Or by the bridge, have no concern;
Their carefree style, bereft of strife,
In rite of passage, it’s their life.

Each tickle’s tale is so unique,
As, with these islands, it will speak;
Defining, as it does, a split,
Between religions, where they sit.

Like railway tracks, they oft divide,
Whereto, perhaps, the sects reside;
A natural barrier, or, a way,
To breach the differences holding sway.

Made famous by the Scammell song,
This Tickle has a history, long;
As launching pad for catching squid,
Or other species, in their bed.

Grounds for discourse are these isles,
As, lay, they might, among the swiles;
In Bay of Notre Dame, of note,
This tickle-trunk sure gets my vote.
  Submitted By: Robert LeMessurier