Sandwriting

One day in a place between an ocean liner horn and the chalk cliffs,
in a land of copper leaves that left impressions in late autumn,
curiousity caught hold of a sandcastle that knew nothing else
other than its own small shore view. The waves were known sounds
to it, but they were so very far away that they were just a notion
newly to discover in the bay of the night. The castle had heard
of the darkness, the little girl who had made the moat hours earlier
said she’d have to go before it arrived. Somehow it was so near now
it thought and it felt a swirl ease to crumble softly around its edges.
It wasn’t a bad feeling and the sandcastle had little of those,
for it was born in affection to a parent that had spent all day proudly
trying become a home.