Fresh cut grass laced with dew adheres to the top of my navy sneakers
Only the mornings touch invites the purple glories to open their lavender lashes, pupils of white
Never has school's beginning been so inviting
A crisp waft of salty air reminds the land that the oceans near
Cold enough to raise the hair but fresh enough to tolerate
Even now these mornings bring nostalgia
Ripples flee from our canoe and dissipate before reaching the targeted shore
"Fishy, Fishy, in the brooke come and bite on my big hook"
But not even charms can cast my line to the scaled phantom, whose shadow I swear I saw,
teasing me to become entangled.
Indian feet remain in the clay, telling the story of natures keepers
Shark teeth are out of place now, but remind me that this land was once the Ocean's
Soon to be the City's