small, chubby hands
pat, dimples winking
she scoops again,
spade quivering.
little by little
grain upon grain
and then complete,
driftwood beacon atop.
tide threatens awhile,
weakening, taunting.
her castle crumbles
and washes away
with the lowering sun.
driftwood beacon
left behind.
i like the structure of your language here, kath.. you really are starting to try out different things at the moment...
excellent x
This poem has a delicacy about it. I enjoyed reading it Kath. xx
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Elaine Booth
Sun 6th Mar 2011 22:05
A very elegant poem, Kath. As Ann says, delicate with very precise, spare language.