The mystic Island beckons us near
across historic pages
where tides have washed the sands of fear
Rocks scattered by storms of ages
The snakes lie waiting on the shore
their puddles blue and white
trodden once and then some more
reflecting light and might
And in our way, yet perfect place
the boulders block our path
and eager eyes search every face
the lines of every laugh.
Adventure blocked, made difficult
yet harder makes it more
enticing for our viking cult
the tales of brave folklore.