Watching the sun slowly set between the two mountain peaks.

True beauty is what I seek.

Admiring the birds flying low to the sea.

Seeing they too are free.

The strong smell of the ocean lingers in the air.

The sweet smell of freedom will always be there.

On this island I use to roam.

The island I will always call my home.

When I need to seek beauty in this broken world, I know where i will go.

I'll Follow my heart back to an island that I know.

floating in the great blue, A place called Fogo, that is where I will go to.

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allets's picture

"...birds flying low to the sea..."

Nice image. Well said - slc



heatherburns35's picture


lovely rememberance of your home. Sounds beautiful.
There is no place like home, hbw