Awaiting twilight’s dusky gloom,
  Eternally a frozen tomb,  
  Forever waiting patiently,
The sea lies all around.

Its waters ripple, almost still,
  The currents cold with arctic chill,
  It sits and moves so silently
There is no noise, no sound.

Grey-glazed, its surface icy lead,
  Its waves this mighty land surround,
  Preparing to attack the ground
Its thought dwell with the dead.

    The ocean broods,
    A thought intrudes,
The ocean thinks of death, unplanned,
The waves have fled towards this land:

      Atlantis.


So sparkling bright, the towers stand,
  Are lustrous, shining, graceful, grand,
  They wanderin almost to the sky
As far as eye can see.

They gleam and glitter in the sun
  A sparkling rain of colours run,
  With spires of golden glass on high,
As pure as cleanest sea.

All pathways broad and lined with trees.
  Anticipate the courts of gold,
  As multi-coloured flowers hold
And scent, perfume the breeze.

    With city’s heart,
    And nature’s art,
The artisans have shaped its face,
A paradise prepared this place:

      Atlantis:


The brown earth trembles, starts to quake,
  A wind whips up and storm clouds break.
  Enchanting buildings hit the ground,
Before a giant’s scythe.

It topples over towers tall, 
  The bricks and beams and glass all fall,
  Great temples shatter all around,
The very ground does writhe.

The earth moves quickly up and down,
  Towards the sky the buildings lunge, 
  And with the islands final plunge,
Are tossed, they wait to drown.

    The ground subsides,
    The ocean rides,
The mighty waves come flooding in
And wash over its broken skin:

      Atlantis.


Beneath this ocean’s icy tide
  These ruins lie, they still abide,
  The towers toppled, columns cracked,
The buildings all are crushed,

The currents flood the sunken street,
  While souls of ghosts are all they meet,
  The avenues with bones are packed,
The skeletons are hushed.

Above these broken ruins lies
  The water of this wintry sea,
  A mighty grave, a memory,
The ocean cruel and wise.

    It spares no pity
    For this city,
For some day yet, ‘midst fire and pain,
The island then will rise again.

      Atlantis.   

                                1975