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I packed for three years' worth of unabashed glory

I survived the devastation!

Bit into charred fruit, strayed from my island

Rowed to an unfamiliar land

Tarried through a temporary milieu

Adapted the natives' crop and cloth

The joy in my voice must have echoed for miles

"I am a survivor!" my island overheard

But how could I prosper without home?

Once rebuilt, I quenched my longing for it

Hopes of the familiar, ashen

I bit into the black fruit which I had deserted

The nectar had abandoned it also

My joy, flown free

My home, sunken low as my heart

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Poetry: Natural disasters

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