At Play Poem by Robert Edgar Burns

Off come the mittens,
The scarves and the coats.
Little girls collect sea shells,
Little boys building moats.

Here come the seagulls
Who will peck at your head,
When you try to toss up
Little pieces of bread.

The wind blows your hair
While the mist covers your face.
The sun brightly shines
And of storms there's no trace.

Little buckets and pails
Of all colors dot beach,
Where only just yesterday
This was no one's retreat.

Some there for tans,
On towels they will lay,
While oiling themselves
And their children at play.

Feet leaving footprints
You could follow for miles.
And every red face
Is now covered in smiles.

When you are in love,
It is always this way.
When "spring kisses" arrive,
May you go be at play!