It was almost like a summer ritual
To prance along the brightened shores of grain,
When balmy trees wafted as usual
Aunt Em’s hut glazed nearby lakeside's terrain.
Waxed seashells rose like buffed pods on the ground,
Dotted and curved, echoing of hummed waves played
As we gathered them on coast walks, spellbound
The array of tinseled humps were engraved
And strung together into bright marble charms.
While Aunt and I giggled, skirts fluttered on air
Knitting loops as bracelets on tanned forearms,
An enchantment draped by August’s fanfare.
…I revel now at the trance of seashells’ gifts
my childhood heart nestling magic that uplifts!
Story Poem Contest, Carol Eastman
Written by: nette onclaud