Platinum beaches, silver shells
So many glistening, towering swells
Fiery sun, bright beach sand
Like the golden rings on my hand

Like a missile aimed for its target,
a seagull dives for its meal
completely oblivious to the storm that dwells.

Blue footed boobies sit on their nests.
Nurturing mothers, they sure are the best.
The wind is howling and the sand does blow,
but the nurturing mothers will never go
for the survival of their species depends on them.

Clouds surge in and massacre the sky.
Stronger and stronger the wind blows; it will not die
for the storm draws closer every minute
and sends the tourists packing, good reddens.

As the octopus does with its food,
the storm wraps its tentacles around the island
and the night is sure to be one heck of a challenge
for the animals that make this land their home.

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