Through hills, fallow fields,

look-out towers, and

chattel houses - I feel you.

Amongst the palm,

flamboyant and paw paw trees

and as the Black-belly sheep graze - I see you.

You whisper in my ear as the

sea breezes

atop Bathsheba Rock.

Up Gun Hill, across the length of the East Coast Road

and down Cattlewash

- I remember you:

My childhood summers and

formative years belong to you

and our Yesteryear.

You are the Pride of Barbados,

Eleanor Ida

and this island is no longer in bloom.