Out in the reservoir, is a tiny island.
It was not there yesterday,
But now, there is a small tree. Its green, leafy branches are distinguishable,
And this shore is none too far to make out some timbers of life.
It draws closer; it is not an island after all, for it moves gently,
Twisting in the wind under a tennis-racket sail of green leaves.
It is Her Majesty's Ship, constructed this evening by two idle minds.
Idleness provoked desire, then action. Idleness built a ship.
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| Capt. Tom demonstrates the scale of the H.M.S. |
Her limbs are torn from the bamboo nests of the shore,
Where a red-winged blackbird and sparrow watch in curiosity.
Her joints are tied with charitable grapevines and green stems,
And atop is a long flag of grass, like a crow's nest, or a cricket's.
What are you building, some young passersby asked.
What we set our mind to, we builders replied.
The man in his kayak drifts by our sailboat in quiet wonder.
The children on the shore drift into their own dreams.
All is well, awe-inspired, and we let the H.M.S.sail
into the proud oblivion
of success.
Visit the blog of Tom, the H.M.S.'s captain, Zwitterion; which is, by the way, not a made up word from the likes of Lewis Carroll but is a molecule with both positive and negative charge (but not as a dipole).
