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;
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.