Shovel and pail in my left hand
Small wet toes
Big long feet with bright red ends
Punch perfect indents
In hard wet sand on world’s damp edge

Small white pebbles roll away
Into foamy water slosh
Return in bubbles bright
A perfect place
A magic ground

Digging desperate a moat appears
Sand becomes pail slope towers
Walls crenellate with picnic forks
Can, rocks, twigs, and shells
Flag the corners

Bridge across the deep spoon the windows
Blue crab shell and pebble trail mark the gate
“To Arabian glories”
She rises on her knees to admire
Waves come lapping at her feet

High up the sand
A strong tide rushes
Washes away the forward wall
Towers collapse the moat is gone
Flags and forks floats away

We tread home together
Why I ask
“Oceans always win” She says
Holding her gentle hand shovel and pail in the other
There won’t be another day such as this

Feet sinking softly standing alone
Bending stiffly
I toss a pebble into the froth
Sand of my dreams gets molded into place
Towers, courts, walls, sea shell, stone and stick
Waves leap over I am gone.