Things have to get better,
No matter the time,
No matter the place.
If I give you a word,
You'll have to rhyme,
If you are to save face.

Not certain about the words,
That I wrote.
Commit them to memory,
Remember by rote.

A mess of words,
That are to be,
A way for me to
Maintain my sanity.
A futile attempt,
Don't you see.

I'm not getting better
And soon I'll be,
An example to share,
For sake of history.

The years roll by, this aged life of mine
with past emotions, in my soul entwine.

The tide, ever changing,
the smell of the Sea.
The view so remarkable,
it's calling to me,
to return to the place,
that is heaven to see.
The warmth of the water
is so comfortably,
that I must return
to the Islands, so free.

There go I, if it hadn't been for you.
For you helped me show what I could do.
The shy, retiring, bashful, young boy,
is now an adult with a lot of joy.
A joy that lives with me, I know not how.
Much thanks to you. I say that now.