The Bauble of a Soul
Surrendered by the ebbing tides
Shards of those who passed this way,
The yielding mud deigns to confide,
Its secret things now on display.
Sifting mud, seeking connections
To touch a memory strewn asunder,
A pipe, a toy, brings forth reflections
In a mudlarks eyes, a bygone wonder.
To rescue from the clinging mire
A fragment of a thing once cherished,
Now but scrap, yet once desired
The bauble of a soul, now perished.
Entry for
Mudlark Poetry Contest
27/3/2020. Placed 2nd.
Copyright © Gary Smith | Year Posted 2020
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