Erstwhile exploited for its fish,
to grace a varied foreign dish,
the colony came into its own,
as, just like Topsy, it had grown.

Ruled by fishing admirals’ whim,
with justice of their rulings, slim,
our forebears fought to make a life,
where living here was filled with strife.

In spite of peril on the sea,
and on the land, near-enmity,
they strove to eke out life’s reward,
that only toil could ill-afford.

Now, of that legacy, much is lost,
in fierce determination’s cost,
and independent spirit’s will,
though, some of that is with us, still.

That spirit, which, cannot be canned,
is bottled up, in this fair land,
but foul or fair, our fortunes bear,
the brunt of clinging close to here.

As, here is where the heart is healed,
when broken, if it’s far-afield;
one cannot fathom its embrace,
nor depth of feeling for this place.

This sense of place, sometimes, it’s true,
seems not to make much sense to you;
like love, it cannot be explained,
just felt, and savored, ne’er restrained.
  Submitted By: Robert LeMessurier