Cinnamon coloured slingbacks dangle from her fingers,
as she searches the tide line for discarded gems.
A warm steady breeze whispers somewhere offshore,
but she turns her head in fear of sandy eyes.
Years of leaning over crumbling crenelations
make it hard to hold on to all experienced there.
In desperate yearning, eyes forward and down looking,
she misses the footsteps that trail away behind..
Hoping for a message from a newly discovered bottle,
but, the only bottles here were cast there by her hand.
The verses once inside had lines that knew no score,
and the all important labels soaked off long ago.
Bending to dip her fingers, hair hitched behind her ear,
the wind has a glimpse of beauty hidden inside.
She cools her blistered fingers and walks on firmer sand,
she knows this place is empty, but feels safe here on her own.
Rope tricks and lighthouses offered with every tide,
no place yet she wants to visit or to call her home,
she cannot see the treasure she’s had there all the time,
if she’d only turn and lift her head and learn to trust again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem