It's where the first engine was made
And first automated print machine
Where fierce weather performs raids
And most people on their labors lean
Wherein adventurers congregate
Who search for their now interests
Forgetting lore and false debates
Uniting arms standing abreast
Where remote islands hard to cope
Where crops and resources so poor
No foreign help no stillness nor hope
Only researches through brain score
Where concepts sprang of earthly skull
They trust their senses and expertise
Heed their life, comfort and extol
Longing for long stay sans disease
Charities aren't means to feed greed
Nor stars expect luck nor nightmares
No treasure promised in neat screed
No trade with ethics, gods no shares.
Kassem Oude
On Wednesday, May 25,2016
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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