A washed up girl sits on a beach,
The icy foam just out of reach,
Drawing circles in the sand,
Golden grains run past her hand,
The screech of gulls call out her name,
She winces as it sounds the same
as parents who for many years,
Once bathed in all her many tears.
The abandoned shells sat all alone,
Just like the girl so far from home,
Washed ashore, outlived their use,
She’s cast aside past cruel abuse,.
She looks ahead to rays of hope,
The winds of change will help her cope,
For here she’ll start her life once more,
Finding solace from the shore.
Copyright © JANENE JORDAN | Year Posted 2017