Poetry Bastards of the Unwashed Village
Wednesday, 22 October 2014
Sand
Soft beneath my feet as I walk,
Hissing grain on grain,
Whispering ghosts of forms past.
Time and tide prevail,
Returning fire's rocky child
To the dust of the stars.
Echoes of a million waves,
Surfdancing stone to sand.
06/1/02
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