Drifting Sands Poem by Alan Strand

A million, billion little grains
All washed up on the beach,
Endless waves swish and swirl
The sands within their reach.

A myriad of bare footprints
All transient and fresh,
Lead nowhere in particular
Mere impressions of the flesh.

The sun is gently hanging
On sunset’s golden flow,
Sea birds softly glide above
With moon and stars in tow.

The palms droop down to listen
To a couple’s quiet kiss,
Whisperings of sweet nothings
They’re lost in Love’s abyss.

The ocean’s breath doth whisper
The lover’s immortal sighs,
Darkness drapes the barren beach
Young hands touch tender thighs.

A cool wind whips the sand about
And perhaps a heavy rain,
Will erase all trace of man afoot
And of lust’s romantic game.

(2000/01/22, Varadero, Cuba)