Toes in wet sand: wait...
Wait; anticipate the wave
Recedes. Toes make shapes.
Wave falls at feet: plays...
Wipes shapes, recedes, stays. The cold =
The warmth of winter.
I write of the sea.
It's just a way to not say
How comes my reprieve.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem