I see a map of Newfoundland and marvel at the names
of the places, and the strange and lovely sounds.
I wonder of the starting of all the little ports,
and there's magic as I trace the roads around.

But then I read that Avalon was once not even there,
but came creeping slowly on a plated drift.
When at last it came to join the lovely place it found
the Arctic Shield received a precious gift.

That was long before the time that fishers came to find
the island rich with cod, and other fish and fowl.
Or before the whale was wanted or even thought about,
and before the livyers heard the bergs a'growl.

Then they came in little ships, but weren't allowed to stay,
and the first to come each springtime was the law.
Until at last, relinquishment became a way of life,
as the English Parliamentary made the call.

As the people came to Newfoundland, at first just one by one,
then by groups of friends and families alike;
and finally by the boatloads to this island on the sea,
to name each bay and cove, and every bight.

Some were named in frustration, you can see it by the words,
while others show that gratitude was felt,
and too, there are places that are but the graves of souls
who perished from the hell the sea had dealt.

Lovely places, lovely names dot the shoreline of the Isle,
but to try and understand them shouldn't be,
for 'twould be too unbecoming and would surely take away 
from the magic and the mysteries of the sea.   Submitted By: NULL