Sandcastles that soon will
Be palaces of the past,
As the tide starts to turn
And the last line is cast.
Collecting razor shells
and spent onion rings
and what might
be the throat of a mermaid,
Who now no longer sings.
Grains of glass that
Once may have
been her heart.
A never on a sundae
from an ice cream cart.
We dance like demons
At the hem of the sea
Jumping in front of waves
Nowhere else in the world
That we’d ever want be.
The gulls with eyes
as cloudless as the dead.
And an evening playing cards
And a sand soaked bed.
The moon over the ocean.
(Our mother while away)
If it rains for the next fortnight
We will still have had today
https://writingatthebeachhut.org/2020/02/23/at-the-beach-a-poem-by-bernard-pearson/
