“The Beachcomber”

Gray, the color of the morning,
White, the color of the shells,
Black, the color of the sands.
The sun, still low in the clouds.
The beach, streaked with shimmering foam.
She stalked this scene with a piercing gaze,
Proud bearing, strong posture,
Clear eye.
Seeing anew, the wonders that lay,
There on the beach,
in the early morning haze.
For hours (it seemed) she strolled quite alone,
‘Til there, up ahead, a man appeared.
No lover of stillness, of silence, of dawn.
The beachcomber, with an indignant squawk,
Turned, and flew into the sun.


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