Upon the strait where fractured waters meet,
The ancient fire consumed the island’s heart,
A world erased in blinding, ash-choked heat,
Where life was forced to find a second start.
The sterile slopes of lava, grey and bare,
Lay silent underneath a wounded sky,
Until the first brave drifters filled the air,
And ocean currents washed the seeds nearby.
First came the moss, the grasses, and the spore,
To weave a carpet o’er the hardened crust,
While spider silks drifted from shore to shore,
And ferns took root within the cooling dust.
Then figs and tall casuarinas grew,
To raise a canopy of vibrant green,
As geckos crawled and swift-winged sunbirds flew,
Transforming what was once a barren scene.
Above the cliffs, the raptors claim the air,
The sea eagle patrols the shifting tide,
While in the grander forests, rich and rare,
The clever kings of vocal grace reside.
For though the ash once hushed this broken land,
The cockatoos and parrots call and gleam—
A testament to nature’s moulding hand,
Where life returns, triumphant and supreme.
