An Island Rhyme
When people think of Denman,
Some see a rocky shore,
And some see a forest dense,
Where wild flowers bloom galore.
Some will see green meadows,
Where cattle rest and graze,
Some hear it’s streams murmuring,
Through sunlit summer days.
Some will smell the briny,
And softly scented air,
Others see an island,
With many havens there.
Some will find its treasures,
Lying by the sea,
Patterned and all sizes,
Some in filigree.
Some will see the autumn,
And tinted leaves of gold,
Others see the deer
As they become more bold.
Some will spy a sea lion,
Splashing as he plays,
Others see some otters,
Loping up the grade.
Some will see the mountains,
With a rim of blue,
Others see the meadows,
And trees, moist with dew.
People come to Denman,
To breathe the fresh clean air,
To hear the waves rush in and out,
As the wind blows through their hair.
Others come to visit,
Mainly just to look,
Then find themselves surprisingly,
Absolutely hooked.
Such is Denman Island,
A gem in the sea,
A peaceful place, a restful place,
Where one can happy be.
Written by Maureen Galbraith in 1984.
