The tide breathes in, a whispered sigh,
Across the canvas wet and wide.
A million footprints, ghosts that lie,
Where yesterday's small dramas died.
Each shell, a story, curled and frail,
Of journeys through the ocean's keep.
A silent, salty, ancient tale,
Of where the hidden currents creep.
The jagged rocks, with moss adorned,
Stand sentinels against the spray.
By countless storms they've been out-horned,
Yet...
Continue reading...