TRESCO
A poem for Stephen Booth, who passed away in 2013. Stephen was a regular visitor to Tresco for fifty years and the poem was written by his brother, Ted Booth.
Tresco
What island is this
Prospero's cell perhaps
there the grey beard goes
and isn't that pretty gardener
Miranda in disguise
or are we all Crusoes
shipwrecked on the beach
waiting for man Friday
and a ready cooked pie
or is this Treasure Island
with Jim and Captain Flint
making for the village store
where X marks the spot
and untold treasures wait
or is it a mad hatter's
golf course with untold buggies
criss crossing the greens
or has a bit of Barbados
broken loose and floated
its palm trees
across the Gulf Stream
and into our garden.
Ted Booth
December 2013
