On my jaunty journeying,

songs of the season

playing in my mind

passing Mare aux Vacoas

rippled, yet placid,

I would be turning

right, then plough on,

full of nature-induced euphoria

in the midst

of the indescribable beauty

of the wild, rustically remote

and romantic;

I would reach the expanse

of water all pure, gaze at it

in wonderment, all alone

but not troubled,

the passion and verve

for the enchantment

of a secluded spot

overriding all unease,

the elixir of delights

intoxicating enough

to instil dreamy ease.