Hangs the dying sun.
A sparkling spectrum of colors flow
Across the gleaming waters.
Seagulls, arcing through the dusk
Cry piteously
To a dully darkening sky.
Warm waves lap
Upon sand glistening wetly,
And the softly blowing breeze
Tickles the skin with its soft caress.
Tranquility lies
Like a warm blanket
On chilly nights.
(c)Lisa Kendrick 2009
published in Skipping Stones, Vol VI
Mindworm Press, Chesapeake, VA
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