Turn Of The Tide
Low ripples creep in eager waves,
Reclaiming grains of wind-blown sand,
To lay them flat within the damp, cemented matrix,
By degree, each one,
In exposed space,
Is over-run,
Again with water weight,
Where fine currents caress and roll,
The grains that had once been free.
PeterRay
Mon 23rd Jan 2017 17:10
Thanks again for the comments Colin.
All were written on Penally beach in Wales within a few days. Lovely spot - lots to stimulate writing.