LUPIN LAND
They call you Iceland, but to me,
You are the land of the light-flecked lupins
Lapping liquidly up from the sea,
Flowing like lava on slopes and banks,
Softening the once-rough lava beds,
Cooling the once-hot thermal earths,
Injecting beneficent nitrogen,
Fixating fine and friable soils.
Their petals are blue as the glacial flows,
Tinged with the white of glacial ice.
Like the ancient Norse, they’ve arrived to stay.
They’ll hold their ground, come what may.
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