
Night air is moving in,
cool, salted slightly
but still we linger
watching the sky
change into it’s night attire,
pink, purple, golden.
Waves lap at the floating dock,
men throw crab traps into the water,
hope mixed with beauty and seagull songs.
A jet scrapes a white line across the blue
soundlessly leaving somewhere
to go somewhere else
as we linger.
Wanting to hold this moment,
the memories of past years
on this beach,
in this town,
starting this life.
Looking ahead to more
but savouring this particular day
as long as we can.
©2021 Sharron R. McMillan
Thank you Heather. Just when I think the muse has left me for good, a new poem bursts through the gloom again. 😉
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So beautiful – the picture and the poem! Thank you!
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Beautiful ❤️
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