The
Sandpiper
Just
as my fingers heard the
singing seagulls near these
gurgling rocks, I could see
the spirit of the sea somewhere
twisting the salty wind in this
congealed breach,
I
could consider the sand
being scratched by a sandpiper,
looking like the sea, so bold
was the little bird looking
for some grey wet food on
this timid spring day with
its silent grip,
the
sea wimple
silently sifting its salty fingers
where the struggling sprays
were haltered now like wild
colts on the cold grass with
an old energetic bounding so
much like a mysterious form,
now
a havelock above the
bellowing waves as it saw the
gossip being now hawked on
the pebbly beach.
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