The shore relaxes <br />as the setting summer sun <br />follows the tramp home <br />of barmy burnt beach lovers <br />with life’s clutter <br />in stripy bags. <br /> <br />All is quiet now. <br />There are seagulls <br />who poke at mysteries, <br />and a lone pink plastic windmill <br />pines for her ‘cheap-day-return’ friend. <br /> <br />Time <br />for the etch-a-sketch tide <br />to wipe names of sandy lovers <br />and criss-cross, flip-flop footsteps. <br />Then, <br />the final invasion <br />as an army of doomed sandcastles <br />await <br />crumbly destruction. <br /> <br />All will be clean <br />for tomorrow.<br /><br />Phil Lucas<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/harlyn-bay-summer-evening/
