One day I landed on an island
and took a hammer in my hands.
I took the nails that I needed
and made myself a habitat.
It wasn't much, it wasn't tall,
but it had a roof and it had four walls.
It may have only been a shack,
but it was mine and
I wouldn't take it back.

One day a storm hit the island.
I took my boat and sailed away.
I took a photo before I left
and stared at it for many days,
while I waited, wanting home,
but besides the photo I was all alone.
I looked and saw the storm abate.
I reversed the fore
and homeward made.

One day I made it to the island
and took it upon myself to find
my shack that the storm attacked.
I looked upon a gutted rind.
It wasn't left, the walls were gone
wherever the wind had fallen upon.
Around the chimney twined
ruin, and a past
I should have left behind.

One day I fled from the island
and took nothing in my sack.
I took an empty bag wanting
new memories to fill the pack.
I wasn't sad, but had regret.
I'd tried returning whence I already left.
I now know it was just a shack.
I tore the photo twain,
for we cannot go back.