Digging in Sand.
I made my marks in the cool sand,
Channels scrapped and dug with tiny hands.
Fingernail designs of made-e-up
A sort of castle, a dragon, a moat.
To feel cool grit in the heat of the sun,
A calf’s lick breeze on white legs as I ran.
Tides wash away all that’s made and said,
The ebb and flow of time eroding the dead.
Yet, what fun I had with my fingers and hands,
My life’s summation: Just digging in sand.