The Writers Voice
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White collars cap blackwaves folding upon the shore in rhythmic procession,
Choir gowns swaying down the sanctuary isle,
Murmuring hymns inviting introspection,
Bowing on bent knees at the Amen.
Crashing chords beat the majesty of belief into souls and
Vibrate through the sand.
Piping seagulls shrill whistles carry on the wind
And quick gasping giggles alert my senses.
Lilting shadows skip behind the sand dunes.
Teasing little hands wave in the sea grass,
Clapping and shaking sea oats from their hallowed stems.
Toddler footprints pressed in wet sand
Leave tiny toes in scallop patterns
Scattered along the shore's damp uneven hemline.
I am the mellow moon.
You dash out proclaiming independence.
A sudden urge for security draws you back
And you slip into my patiently waiting embrace.
Today I stoop and pick sherbert hued shells that reflect your rosy tan.
Silver salt crystals and gold sand grains mingle and mat your tousled hair.
Mist sprays from your small lips, puckered for kisses and whispering
I love you.
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