We cried as Jack was shown through heaven’s gate;

His body laid amongst the bamboo shoots.

A faithful dog laid at his side.

But then the voice of reason whispered through the trees.

Just why should Jack be dead?

So much to do as yet.

The island’s mysteries unsolved.

That dazzling Light

Which heals all ills,

Yet smoking monsters makes.

More scientists will come, I’m sure,

To harness its magnetic power

And travel all through time

On its behest.

This island now is etched upon  our cultural soul.

A heritage to carry forth through future days.

We seek the prequel now to Jacob’s Mum, adoptive as she is.

And look to times when ancient Guardians lived.

The Genesis of that golden light.

Paul Butters or Skryboss

(C) Yorkshire, Saturday 2952010 at 09.50.