On the Shore of Black Sand
Drops on anthracite curls
Are glistening and slipping off.
A light breeze craves a touch
And cautiously blows on them.
But you, indifferently, don't even play with heir .
The sun sank lower
And by refracting the rays,
It lit you up like gold coins.
Well I, nearby froze as a brass,
Take me as the many of amulets.
Copyright © Mari Bond | Year Posted 2022
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