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.