The sand is warm the surf is bright
I lie and hear the waves
the sea oats gently bend and mourn
blue underwater graves
The ocean gives and also takes
and none knows where or when
their turn will come to join the ghosts
of those who once had been
But I am here on golden shores
and touch the grains of sand
so tiny and so comforting
upon my outstretched hand
As seagulls squawk in circling groups
my finger starts to stir
and trace upon the salty ground
words that the surf soon blurs
My life is writ upon the sand
my days like pebbled stones
smoothed by the crashing of the waves
as age wears down my bones
My words, my ways, my thoughts, my plays
will all be washed away
and while I breathe the briny air
I'll celebrate the day
The sand is warm the surf is bright
I lie and hear the waves
the sea oats gently bend and mourn
blue underwater graves.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem