So, whatâs it like to be an absentee Vincentian?
To carry your island with you and breath in deep with every mention?
In a far flung hotel somewhere when sleepâs a voice you start to argue with,
You picture Lower Bay behind the salty screen of your closed eyelids.
When, despite a thousand flights between the worldâs great city skylines,
The only one you dream about goes
From La SoufriÃ¨re to Union Island.
A thousand Prayers said in Churches with bells so high they over reach,
But every white Cross just brings you back to a rock on Villa beach.
So, whatâs it really like to be an absentee Vincentian?
Attending a Pageant of natural beauty when only one holds your attention.