Stranded On Poetic Island

Last night I dreamed that I was sailing in a ship full of letters
A great storm came upon the sea and I was scared out of
  My dictionary book of many letters, words, and meanings that my
   Father had given to me for winning a spelling bee one year.
    The ship was tossed to and fro like a lemon in a fruit colony.
     I cried out for deliverance but deliverance must have been
      Very busy delivering someone else for the next thing I knew
       The ship was thrown by the water and hurled by the wind
        Upon the shores of a deserted but very poetic island.
       A body could tell it was poetic because of the way the rocks
      On the island rhymed with each other and how the clouds above
     Had that silky sonnet look about them and the sunsets were so much
    Like odes splashing into the sea on the horizon as they told the day
   Goodnight and to have pleasant dreams because tomorrow will be
  Perfect like today and you will never want for anything drinking the milk
 Of a coconut tree, and being in love with sand and surf, and catching fish
To have and cook over fires in the night as the tides roll in and out.
I found out later that a tribe of Linguists lived on the island who were natives
Devoted to devouring literature and could only be appeased by the daily
 Writing of verses.  So in a way you could say that I paid for not being
   Their dinner and had to write to keep myself alive.  It was hard
    I wrote my fingers to the bone.  I used the sandy beaches as a piece
     Of paper and arranged rocks into letters, and words, and verses.
      The high priest of the clan would come each day and memorize
       And take the message to his people.  They must have liked it
        As I never ended up in a soup pot.  They would eat poet, poem, and all In a gruel of alphabet stew if you ever crossed them in a bad way.

One day I saw a ship on the horizon and tried to blow smoke rings
It was hard to blow a smoke ring giving out the words S O S
 When all you had was rocks to fling into the air.  Anyway, the ship
  Was too far away and never saw my message.  I finally made a
   Friend from the island tribe and his name was Friedday.  I first met
    Him on Saturday.  We just happened to be bathing in the same lagoon
     And noticed that we had nothing in common.  Through him I got to
      Understand his tribe a bit better and they were not so bad once
       I got to know their ways.  They lived on a diet of bitter vowels
       And occasionally went into the hills to hunt for a consonant to
        Supplement their literary diet.  Their huts were arranged in such
         A way as to spell out: "Crazy for coconuts."
          
          People, I am talking to you.  

          They lived naked
           Except for the Scarlet Letter A drawn on their
            Buttocks.  Marriage was sacred and any one
             Caught going between the A-s before wedlock
              Was considered a loose and immoral personage.
               The penalty for doing such an abomination was
                Having to bye a new and unused vowel for
                 An astronomical price of twelve chickens,
                  Eleven bay leaves, ten codfish bones,
                   Nine shiny pebbles, eight turtle eggs,
                    Seven dried spiders, six green bananas,
                     Five g o l d e n hairs from the anus of the
                      Rubby dubby giswald, four seashells,
                       Three grains of sand, two eyes of a frog,
                        (But one eye from two different frogs)
                         And the jawbone of a robin sitting in
                          A eucalyptus tree.  If you were poor
                           You could pay this fine in installments.
                         I can remember the day that Friedday
                       Was actually caught between the A-s.  As
                      I can recollect it happened on a Tuesday.
                     That was 22 years ago and he is still making
                    Payments.  You would not believe the interest
                   On a loan here on this poetic island.  The natives
                  Call it poetic justice.  Court is held under the spiney tree
                 And the symbol for justice is a statue of a man holding
                Another man by his balls who is blindfolded.
                I once had to serve on a jury here concerning a case
               Of jaywalking.  It was sad.  The defendant got the chair
              She is still sitting there today.  We never could get enough
             Battery acid out of the orange with the copper wires
            To really fry the A-s off her buttocks.  Never mind.
           Several weeks ago I was formally adopted into the tribe
          And given the name: ABCbiscuit.  I have achieved a high
         Rank in the tribe.  I have three wives.  I have changed a few
        Customs.  I have my wives's buttocks reading A B and C
       So that I can tell them apart.  Heroic deeds earn you more
      Wives.  I have introduced bungee jumping and win most of the jumps.
      I am adding a letter to my marriage bed almost monthly.  When I get
     Enough I am going to start spelling things.  I was always hooked
    On phonics and get a semi just thinking about the word C A T.
   Life could be worse.  One of these days I will probably wake up
  In my bed back home and realize that this was just a dream.
 But in the meantime it is my fantasy to be able to spell in the bed:
Merry Christmas To All and To All a Goodnight.
T'was the night before I woke up and not a letter was stirring not even one word.