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.

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