Polished Clean

People, like pebbles, dot the shore
as sand decapods barrel roll in the surf,
little legs crawling through the air,
unaware of my giant self casting
shadows on the curling waves.

I walk alone with my toes
popping the foam bubbles
remembering small moments
of my life where my legs
and mind crawled in vain.

Moments washed over by powerful seas,
I then tumble toward tomorrow
wishing mostly that my shell, like
the pebbles in the surf,
will withstand the ebb and flow
of the rising, swirling tide

And become polished
and beautiful.





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