Seagulls all line up on our beach

Facing east, against a winter wind.

Briskly blowing sea foam slides past,

As waves bound by, then crash.

We walk, in such slow, sure steps

Hand in hand, in crunching, shell strewn sand

Heading always in the same direction

To a purpose, a place, I never understand.

02/09/2008

Author's Note: We have strolled many a beach together...

Posted on 06/04/2008
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