I sit and gaze upon these shores,
The rugged cliffs, the sky so blue, the rolling surf.
Where the penguins play,
The diddledee and long white grass,
The tussac so green that covers the valley floors.

The nesting birds that I can see, are dotted on the ground,
With seals that line the kelp strewn beaches,
 the vulture on his morning flight,
You could be forgiven for feeling alone,
Because there’s no one else around.

It’s spell bound beauty, the fresh clean air,
The smell of the salt from the frothy foam,
The crystal waters that fill the streams,
The isolation that you feel,
But I’m glad that I was there.

What is this place of magic I so desire,
A freedom most will only dream,
A peaceful  feeling , the excitement, the quiet,
A place where nature is still in charge,
The amazing cloud formations,
And the picturesque sunsets of fire.

There’s only one place, no not the Scottish highlands,
Far more remote with it’s unspoilt beauty,
That stands alone in the Atlantic sea,
So where oh where can I really be sitting,
Why of course I am on the remote Falkland Islands.