In the Mont Saint-Michel Bay

A river of Celtic nations flow this way,

River, western, coast and Celtic,

A language of Submerging basins.

This island strategic, fortified and feudal,

From an ancient time.

These cultural traits still survive

Couesnon River live,

You are untainted by time;

Eternally changing,

French, flowing and sublime.

One has thoughts, hopes and wishes,

Of ancient battles and remembering

Here is entirely aware.

A place of mystic, archangels and pilgrim,

Where legends arise.

This river where there is no beginning

There shall be no end; God above.

A brilliant strike of inspiration,

A flare of my imagination.

Of prophecy of things yet to come,

Kings who’s great songs were sung.

This ancient force, tranquil yet feral.

A nation one used in its original sense

Born to mean many people immense,

To share a common identity,

This Ireland, Wales and Cornwall too,

With a culture identified with island plenty.

Its where the head waters go,

A river by this territory Normandy flow;

What is this Britannia thee?

Were the Bretons submerged by the sea?

Both Celtic cousins origin and nation

Couesnon River still Brilliant and beautiful

Almost too surreal to believe.