Upon the Sand
An old man wrote upon the sand,
Sea foam sweeping to the shore,
It's lowest ebb, the tidal bore ...
Coins of sunlight, gold and grand.
His pen, a cane that was a gift,
Long ago when times were good ...
His lovely wife had found the wood
Washed ashore, among the drift.
She carved it in her loving way,
With intricate designs and words,
A heart, initials, and some birds ...
A gift to him one Christmas day.
She was gone now, twenty years,
Then ravaged by a winter's flu ...
Now he was left with naught to do,
But try to mitigate his tears.
So each day to the sea he went,
And etched an ode upon the beach,
His tortured soul revealed in each,
Meant to quell his heart's lament.
But twice a day the tide came in ...
And washed his sonnets off the shore,
To him, a sign she wished for more,
Poems of all that might have been.
The love he'd one day see ... again.
~ 2nd Place ~ in the "Writing Challenge 2, August 2019 - Enclosed Rhyme" Poetry Contest, Dear Heart, Judge & Sponsor.
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