As lengthening shadows across the vista reach,
A susurration heard along a lonely beach.
A protest to invasion by the sensuous sea.
Wet fingers, dressed in lace, creep out to me.
Bare toes that dare to walk upon wet sand,
Leave marks to be washed by tides from land
So, no evidence of my existence on this plane.
Go back the tiny pebbles cry again.
This poem crackles with sounds. susurration heard along a lonely beach. With the word susurration I can hear the sounds of sandpaper scrapping as the shadows slowly creep along. I like all the s words in this first part.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
great poem.......................