Aspidochelone

Old legend speaks about a place,
Of pure unblemished sand.
None other can compare to it,
This ancient primal land.

An island of pure mystery,
Its mountain sloped and round.
For those who stumble on its shores,
Cry “sanctuary found!”

But weary must be those who camp,
Beneath its starry sky.
The truth about this emerald gem,
Is more than meets the eye.

It roams about the seven seas,
Not in the same place twice.
It’s luscious green and flowing streams,
Bait sailors with entice.

Without a warning suddenly,
The mountain starts to creep.
The Titan takes a final breath,
And plunges to the deep.

If you should wreck upon its beach,
Before you can atone.
Don’t tempt the hunches of his home,
Great Aspidochelone.

– J.S.Worth

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