Far out to sea beneath the heavy swell
There is a land the ancients trod, so I hear tell.
Their way of life we cannot know,
What they ate, what plants did grow;
They fished, of that no doubts I’ve got,
But did they fashion clay to pots?
They knew the skies
And they were wise,
They knew to sail a boat,
To navigate and stay afloat.
They were there once, they are no more,
Fled before a rising tide eight thousand years before,
Drowned now beneath three hundred feet at least,
This garden, this Eden in the East
Written for What Pegman Saw: Raja Ampat Regency, West Papua