Ariana Singfield (23/09/1999 / Hammersmith)
The crimson red sky reflects onto the golden sand.
There's a fresh smell in the salty breeze
Drifting from the hushed waves.
I feel the soft, moist grains of sand
Pass smoothly through my fingers.
Silently the blazing, searing sun
Takes a last look at the world
Before it goes to sleep.
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.