Silver Strand

March 30, 2017

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Set out on the strand
the silver ribbon
at the end of the land
a finger dipped
into the sea
it had called to me

That sand
kissed by the water
burned my feet
blinded my eyes
and the tide
whispered shush to me

On the low, dry crests
in the long grass
and the scree
the wind swirled sand
and feathers
and chills all round me

This place is not
what I paint here
it is roads and men
and beds and board
busy and bright
and spins all about me

But with my eyes closed
I can see it better
lonely and left
singing softly
to the distance
with an audience of me

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