Hi folks, I thought that somebody might like to hear my Oak Island poem to give you an idea of my theory.
THE WIND, THE WAVES, AND OAK ISLAND.
As endless waves in a moonlit glaze, sigh on that silver shore,
they whisper secrets to the wind, of those who came before,
Henry Every deemed "Pirate King", William Kidd a privateer,
they devised an illegal repository, their spirits knew no fear.
Oak Island lay in Mahone bay, the perfect place was found,
an engineer designed, a secret mine, deep below the ground,
that genious built, a privateers vault, for their covert operation,
Cornish Tin Miners did the work, the sea gave it's protection.
Every had stashed, his treasure vast, near Reunion far away,
Kidd was told, bring back pirate gold, his king's mission went astray,
with Every's hoard, and his own on board, to Oak Island he secretly sped,
when scandal came, his sponsors blaimed, their scapegoat William Kidd.
A lookout cried "Kidd's ship in sight", his voyage had been long,
the Secret Jetty was placed, where waves would not be strong,
on such a moonlit night as this, a sloop was anchored there,
it's precious cargo swung ashore, in the trees to disappear.
With a heavy cart, the horses halt, in a lanterns eerie glow,
then sturdy men, with a block and chain, lower spoils to the mine below,
they drink and yarn, by a fire warm, smoke swirling in the breeze,
of battles fought and treasure brought, from distant foreign seas.
When Kidd made port, he soon was caught, in England he'd face trial,
his French passes lost, his witnesses coerced, his defence had to fail,
When Kidd was hung, Every cut and ran, to Oak Island he'd not return,
where silver and gold, in sea chest old, were stored they still remain.
From the Arabian Sea, to the Spainish Main, came the riches all around,
diamonds, rubies, emeralds and pearls, but there's danger under ground,
the very wise, flee for their lives, fools leave at their leisure,
the sea rushes there, to punish who dare, to try to take Kidd's treasure.
Scroll down the anchors to read my story.