Footprints
Striking along an azure shore,
Lover’s footprints formed in our wake
Are like a school of funny fish,
With little spoon-like fins, which swim,
Midst gaping clams and scuttled crabs
Scattered about the wet smooth strand,
To a great rock beside the sea.
And who will know we blazed the way
Along this stretch of beach today?
For all the funny little fish
We left to swim behind our wake
Will soon be squirming; hauled away
By swirling nets of white-green foam;
Mourned only by a curlew’s cry.
Copyright © David Drowley | Year Posted 2018
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