The Land of Pancakia

There once was an adventurer
Who sought a turf unknown.
There were rumors, and there were myths,
But man had yet to find
The Land of Pancakia- an
Island made of pancakes.

So he set out on the voyage
(His friends had many doubts)
To the place with maple rivers
And fluffy fields of gold.
The voyage would be a long one,
But he would not lose hope.

To his luck, he found what he seeked!
No, it was so much more:
He had found what others failed to find;
The realm of myth was his!
A place that finally felt like home,
A place where he felt bliss.

The sight was beauty to behold,
Untouched by the foul of man.
The air was sweet with innocence.
The hills rolled on, unblemished.
Flapjacks stacked high, gold touching sky.
He basked in all its glory.

But alas, a choice must be made:
Should he stay or go back home?
"This is all I've ever wanted,"
He reasoned to himself,
"I can't leave! But how else will they know
The wonders in which I've seen?"

"Perhaps it matters not whether
They know of the fantasy
That lies along faraway shores,"
He thought, "Perhaps I should
Think not of them, but rather myself
And what would make me happy."

Without a second's more delay
The explorer chose to stay-
Not for the pancakes (though they were nice),
But for his newfound joy.
It was the best discovery
Any man could have made.

-C.H.