Many have trod
this sandy beach
seeking for shells.
Along the shore
their footprints merge
in shifting sands.
Rising and falling
the ocean sighs
and washes all.
I stand alone
at water's edge.
I have no shells.
Looking back
I cannot tell
the way I came.
I think this is a great imagist poem, spare in details, but just enough. Clean lines, fresh vision, great little poem.
Maybe it doesn't matter from whence you came or what path you took to arrive there at the edge of the magnificant sea...or that you have no shells. Maybe the simple fact that you have arrived there to view perhaps the most majestic of mother nature's creations is all that is important. You will soon begin the rest of your life's journey, leaving fresh but fleeting imprints upon her sandy slate...knowing you are walking with the aim of completing THIS life's circle to reach ultimate fulfillment as you have many times before, only to begin the next round of learning with renewed eagerness and anticipation. I love this. Julie
R eaching at certain point o ften compel us to look back r eality may not be as good as expected y et life is what we make it, keep going!
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
I hope the dearth of collectibles didn't leave you shell-shocked. Wonderful poem. -chuck