Kilroy Was Here

Kilroy Was Here, etched in sand on the shore Waves wash over the inscription till it’s seen no more The sea crashes over castles built by children at play To commemorate a beautiful day. It’s my fault, too. Sand dollars with stars in place of Ceasar’s face Most are in pieces, but a few managed not to break Shark teeth that can no longer bite are fun to find And seagulls shed feathers that can no longer fly But might look good in a cap to wear with pride There are corroded pieces of wood, remnants of the tree Empty pearls float on the surface; others sink unseen A vagabond rests in peace under the sun taking in heat and rays A vacationer reads a book beneath an umbrella shading her place A dead fish, a scallop, bread thrown to birds, remnants of a net, they wash up each day With rice from a wedding and ashes that had been strewn into the ocean to stay Shells shining from the sea’s refining on the inside But unsightly and unidentified on their hide to the outside Under the sand there is lost treasure to be found Kilroy Was Here, I remember, but he’s gone now It’s my fault, too. The tide at times seems ominously high and at times ominously low But the shore will always be there I know And Kilroy was there but is gone and forgotten now It’s my fault, too.