Seashell Memories - a Constanza
Conches scattered in shifting sands,
Ocean's painted art from high tide,
Caring not of past life inside.
Lovingly cupped in tiny hands,
A child of six years finds great joy.
Dirty hands bother not, this boy.
He lifts one to ear where he stands.
His bare toes dug in dampened silt,
Near sandcastle that he just built.
Dancing to sounds of seashell bands,
He squeals shear delight at the tune.
A sight that makes his mother swoon.
Ocean music, he understands.
He remembers time on Dad's ship.
Dancing stops and a tear does slip.
Conches scattered in shifting sands,
Lovingly cupped in tiny hands.
He lifts one to ear where he stands.
Dances to sounds of seashell bands.
Ocean music, he understands.
Written 11/25/17 for
Craig Cornish/Constanza Contest.
Copyright © Rhoda Tripp | Year Posted 2017
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