With Apologies to John Donne

Every man is an island,

Every woman an island, too, 

And the seas between them are rough,

And the boats ply them fitfully;

And every man is lonely,

As he watches the pounding shore,

And dreams of a worldwide continent

He knows he will never see;

But sometimes a drifting bottle

With a message in its hold

Will come ashore on the island,

Having skirted the whole archipelago,

And although the ink is blotted 

And the paper is waterlogged,

Some words can still be distinguished,

Some meaning, at length, teased out;

Then every suffering island

Is linked in a gleaming chain;

For a moment, the islands mingle,

And the world has a single soul.