The surf sings me tunes
Telling me of flower moons,
Waving goodbyes
With smiling hellos.
We exchange 'i knows.'
For we have been here before.
.
The wind will whisper no more.
It will wail in agony as the tide bails,
Stealing all the shovels and pails.
.
.
The glass that holds the hours
Of ultimate sandcastle powers
Will fall asleep and wish you well,
As we cry between goodbyes
And smile at new hellos.
The wind will exhale our echoes
Of you knows.
.
.
.
The unseen air felt
as the sand pelts
Our skin, leaving red welps.
You'll be calling for helps,
I'll whisper to the wailing wind
Reminding you our bodies mend.
.
.
And when I reach the bend
As the sun wakes and takes
The moons sweet tunes,
You will be gone, a lost song.
Sent back to where we belong.
.




© fire_tamed_dame