Cream-filled sands,
corrugated by the ocean's hand,
took a walk down to the market street.
Jumble sales and all the usual stalls,
a cask on a kettle where I sometimes like to eat.
I like to sit and watch them load the ships,
so I sit in the sun against the harbour wall.
Made a necklace out of shells of different kinds,
from the harvest that the tide had left behind.
Sections of a day nearly gone,
still I wonder who has lost or won.
Hear the shingle, hear the bells ring,
an overture that leaves me smiling.
A daydream shaken by a sailor's laugh,
and I smiled back though I tried not to.
