Shells line the shore, empty waiting to catch a child’s eye,
to be rearranged into shapes and swirls of imagination,
the click of the empty whelk homes amidst the chattering.
And the sheltering sand creeps into every gap it can find.
—
Laughter spills over to spread delight to the racing waters
that threaten the pearly patterns as they surge and swell.
Somewhere, the weeping cry of a seagull is drowned out
by a bawling baby belting out their needs into a rising tide.
—-
Soothing voices are lost in the hushing of gentling waves,
and the birds rise squabbling over a butty bite left behind,
As the ocean takes back its domain, sticky tired families
go home, sand filled. Carrying memories of fun and foam.
