The bog cotton hisses in concert with the curlews bubbling wail.
The salt air stirs the marram grass, the sand sedge and sea kale.
Alone she walks in beauty 'neath the dappled harvest moon.
Her night-time wanderings witnessed by the nightjar and the loon.
She trips from dune to pebbled beach in wonderment and awe.
Revelling in her yearly sojourn as she dances on the shore.
With child-like innocence her eyes and ears dart at every sound,
as her naked body glides and weaves, feet barely touch the ground.
With the advent of the breaking dawn, she knows she must relent.
The shoreline beckons, the ebbing tide mean her time is almost spent.
She lies where shingle meets the strand as skin reverts to scale.
Then, she is gone, in a splash of foam and a swish of her mighty tail.
Copyright © John Jones | Year Posted 2020
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
to post a comment