Swirling sands on sun-drenched shore,
And blankets like band-aids, turned just so,
With castles of all kinds, doomed before the advancing tide.
Umbrellas, like M & M’s spilled across a table, with their
Occupants shielded from the searing sun, but not the glorious view.
A gull shrieks, children laugh and shout, and the ocean roars
And You, with your shades, and suntan oil, and radio, lifting
and caressing the sand with the gentlest touch,
letting it drift between your fingers back to its home, like water
pouring in to a vessel, causing no ripple.
On the morrow, the beach is vast and empty, like a blackboard cleaned
after the last schoolchildren have happily departed.
The sea has come and gone, leaving nothing of what had been, but
You are there, with your gentle touch, always.
H. A. PELL