The Ocean
Throws up a stone,
Flattish, nearly round,
Found by a child,
Who feels it,
The rasping nick,
It's nearly a heart.
Salt water laps at their feet,
Hungry for the stone back,
It's incomplete
The child skims the stone,
It bounces along
Waves trying to catch it
Hearing their name called,
Child,
Looks back to the land,
Each wave draws the stones back,
The sand slows our child's progress
towards the sound,
Loving each step,
The depth of the course, grey sand
pulls down like quicksand,
A lovely sinking feeling
Lulling
The little sojourner performs a strange
slow dance
when laughter from the voice
beckons
Come on you,
It's time,
Race you back
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