|
| summer shore |
| these children |
| that play in the sand |
| think this time is forever, |
| their skin drenched |
| in the drowsy heat |
| of a sun swayed |
| in the slow rushing roar |
| of the surf. |
| this close to the waves, |
| the hot sand |
| getting cooler and wet |
| the deeper you dig, |
| and squinting the distance |
| the shore's glare's awash |
| in the sparkling crests, |
| embraced in the gleam of a sky. |
| there's still words |
| to be written in sand, |
| shells and sandcrabs to find, |
| and no hurry, |
| the sun still bides time |
| as the tide slowly folds |
| morning's castle-row walls, |
| flowing home. |
| © Jon Bohrn (1999) |
