One Sunday Afternoon: At the Beach
neither fire nor storm
can wash the tide away
it is the earthy season
that makes the most of may
i plucked a seed from
whence it came
to plant a new breed
of unknown origin
i know not when
i shall return
for reasons inconceivable
i only know
the beach is free
and the entrance must be so
it reminds me of wooden seashells
of starfishes and
of swimming trunks
can makes an afternoon
an aftershock
of things that happened
and things to come
i walked the silent beach of home
with but one tragedy,
i am alone.
poem by Jean Rojas
Added by Poetry Lover
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