Under the low sinking sun, pink sky with dabs of blue, a shell of great value to me.
Mysterious, affluent, and more expressed than the shell beside.
Purple and gold in colour it’s rather rare.
I blink my eye and in a mere moment ’tis gone.
I lost it to a seagull that accidentally thought it was food.
I’m in erratic despair!
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Comments about this poem (Seashell Lost by Michelle Kafka )
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