The Sea
On the shore, by the sea
washed to show its bones
Under foot where rivers seep
the children ran on stones
The air like casstenettes
deep from sand blown hills
Gentle breath over winter land
grey sky filled with gulls
On the high tide fringe
driftwood lay bleached dry
Cold in death a body lies
where gulls now sweep and cry
They stop to look awhile
wind blowing about wild hair
Just a moment in their world
a moment to stop and stare
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