Beached Morning Poem by David Lewis Paget

Steel grey above;
We tripped the silver beach
At some crisp, splintered morning
Traced beyond our line of reach,
We breathed the fluted air as if
In some remembrance
Of dreams once dreamed, let slip and tossed
Beyond deliverance.

And rivulets of cold did etch
Stark patterns in the sand,
While silence tugged at rock and pool
To spill their contraband;
I stole for you a morning shell
That caught the coloured sun,
But dreams and shells once dreamt and thieved
Mist over, every one.

The sea will lap the sandbar
The sand catch at the foot,
While we, so lost in wonder
Are as children, waking up.
The dream we live is lonely,
The plans we build – like sand,
The shell sparks at the sunlight
And I reach for your hand.

29 April 1986