Sand Storm Poem by Angela Wybrow

We make our way along Bournemouth prom,
To a favourite pub of ours, for a lazy late lunch.
But long before we ever make it that far along,
Our mouths fill with sand, on which we crunch.

The sand from the beach is being blown by the wind.
We watch it as we walk along the almost endless prom.
Despite having to battle through the gusting gale,
It’s quite a novelty to see the sand being blown along.

The fine granules form ever moving designs.
Many an interesting pattern the sand makes.
As it’s perpetually blown this way and that,
It twists and turns and twirls, just like snakes.

The sand has collected in patches here and there,
And some of them really are pretty deep.
Rather than walking along the tarmac prom,
We could almost be walking along the actual beach!

As I walk through the large patches of sand,
The granules collect in both of my shoes.
But I walk through patch after patch en route:
I don’t mind, as, me, it does quite amuse.

The wind whips the sand up into a frenzy.
It’s in my mouth, my eyes and in my hair.
Sand is being blown all over the place.
In fact, it seems to be almost everywhere!

I happen to place my hand on the back of my neck,
And I can feel sand there, just below my head.
The next morning, when I get up and look,
There are grains of sand near the foot of my bed!

It was really nice to have a small reminder
Of our very enjoyable, but tiring, day out.
I do so love going down to Bournemouth.
We’ll be back there soon without a doubt!