Classic Poem

I point my new-filled pen at thee
From an embarrassment of topics,
Fair gem of the cerulean sea,
Glistening down in the semi-tropics.
Land where duress is but a dream,
Land of evaporated cream.

Isle of the cedar and the palm,
Island of sempiternal summer,
Thou wert a benison and balm
To me, thy present paean-strummer.
Land of the lily and the rose
And misses'-size Lotharios.

Bermuda! fairy British isle
Whose lexicon is void of " hurry, "
Whose murmuring says " Rest-a-while, "
Whose motto comes to " I should worry! "
Land of the oleander path,
And eight per day (without a bath).

Not that I grudge my frittered wealth;
Not mine to seek Bermuda's wherefore;
I landed there in quest of health
And found it. I am grateful. Therefore
It is the smallest of my cares
The natives are not there for theirs.

Shall it be so in Paradise?
Shall I be fluttering my pinions
And yearn to be among the guys
Inhabiting the sub-dominions?

I only know that I came home
And pounded out this little pome.