A Cuban missile crisis:

Kruschev, a bombastic Russian,

A black bear of a man Banged his shoe at the U.N.

Barked missiles would bury the City.


A family survival plan:

Pored over the nearest map,

Discovered Prince Edward Island,

An eighteen hour drive away.

Fish and potatoes abound

Far from the ominous

Screams of the world

And the mene,mene

Tekel upharsins.


Sailing across the Strait of Northumberland

Abegweit's horns blast a welcoming bellow,

Red soil of the island comes into view.

We dance on the bow of the ferry.

Islanders live on an elysian field,

Folks from away drawn to the isle

Cherished for habits of

Civility all but gone

From this Pecksniffen world.

Drivers wait for pedestrians,

Hardly anyone locks their door.

As Satchmo sang:

"When Islanders say howydo-do

They really mean it too."


The Russians have tumbled

City still stands,

New threats conspire.

Best bulls eye remains

Twenty-one million souls of the City.

Gemutlichkeit spirit of the Island

Nobody's popular target.

The one and only place to be!