It could have been a seasonal flu

She cried for sunlight until the waves began to sink her feet in sand,

He bent down to kiss it until she swished him away,

They collected some odd shells on their way back home,

He knew how much she'd treasure them as her own.

It must have been spring

Or it may have been summer

Who knows what it will bring?

Who cares if it doesn't?

Though she went back to the sea one day,

There was sand and sunlight on the bay,

She scooped a handful of wet sand,

And, walked all the way back home,

It must have been spring

Or it may have been summer

Who knows what it will bring?

Who cares if it doesn't?


It brought her back home. Anyway.


Picture by under-milkwood