Shells line the shore, empty waiting to catch a child’s eye,

to be rearranged into shapes and swirls of imagination,

the click of the empty whelk homes amidst the chattering.

And the sheltering sand creeps into every gap it can find.

—

Laughter spills over to spread delight to the racing waters

that threaten the pearly patterns as they surge and swell.

Somewhere, the weeping cry of a seagull is drowned out

by a bawling baby belting out their needs into a rising tide.

—-

Soothing voices are lost in the hushing of gentling waves,

and the birds rise squabbling over a butty bite left behind,

As the ocean takes back its domain, sticky tired families

go home, sand filled. Carrying memories of fun and foam.