The Beach

Golden grains trickle from my hands and fall

Joining their shining, shifting carpet beneath my feet. 

In the distance a small child builds a

Sand castle, and another plays

with his dad.  A third child of three

finds a tide pool, and pokes at the sea

urchin with a short wet stick he finds. 

The waves, twenty feet away, drum

On the shore

Morning passes fleetingly, afternoon vanishes

Evening comes, and the sun burns the sea

The perfect end of the perfect day