020 – Lonely Lightening Welk

Through the childhood fog of time
I can see the beaches
Littered with best natural mobile homes
Shells of all shapes and sizes
Were snatched from the white sands
And deposited into overflowing yellow pales
While shrieks of glee pierced the air
Now
Barefoot and aged
I am lucky if I find one in tact
And those children’s yells
Near me at the beach
They no longer sound like harps and angels
Did I get old and the world change
Did we take too many when we were young
Or was my imagination just fresh and untarnished

Robert Lloyd
1 September 2017

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