the wave tops chase each other to the beach
and crash, exhausted, foaming at the mouth
I sit, observing, safely out of reach
admiring sailboats leaving for the South
the water's ageless color wets the sand
erasing childish forts and fragile hearts
the hermit crabs don't dare to make a stand
and move their pearly homes to finer parts
the moon will soon give up its vain attempt
to purify the spot on which I sit
the waves break, in frustration and contempt
their froth recedes as they admit defeat
the last sail leans to starboard and winks out
they're gone now, till the summer makes them sprout
Author notes: wc108
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