Wake me from this revolting riddle
My island…tartan from the toil
Every moment in slumber…I am submerged on faraway soil
Outings of yesteryear, swirl and wane from folly’s foil
Though I stack cords of oak to guard against my enemies
I fear tomorrow it will topple and the pond shall boil
Had I not known Friendly Strangers when young.
My reduced everything would have remained under constraint of younger guns
Now, only another Castaway…
Friendly Stranger wake me with your beat…
a distant and different kind of drum
