Iceland, a Poem by Nghiem
Behold a land so beautiful it must be seen
by every eye of every man and woman and child.
Whose color reflects not of ice but of the greenest of green
Toothed rocks and shrubbery, a land neither tame nor scared to run wild.
It’s when we near death that we dream of a heaven beyond earth
unaware that such a place with beauty arrest
exists here, with us, at 65 North, 18 West.
Before I die, I’ll see the place in real life.
