The Sandcastle

Blinding in its white light, the tide pulls back,
letting the sand glitter, wet and sticky to the touch.
I reach down with my eager hands and start building
my sweet castle in the sand.

A high tower to look out into the blue windswept sky,
a door to leave the storms behind, and windows everywhere
for my heart to hear the seagulls' high pitched call.
There is room for you and me to dream.

The stars above bright and far colour the castle proud and strong,
we go walking hand in hand, a rainbow kite following us along,
I hear you laugh into the late afternoon before the sun casts its orange glow,
and before the waves hypnotize us with a deep, deep sleep.

But it is a castle in the sand, and sand is what its walls are made of,
and so they will come crashing down, the waves' foamy gown
dragging it into the timeless ocean to its restless sirens and drifting shells,
and there is nothing I can do but watch it take our dreams away.

Perhaps we will live another day to see the tide make way for us
to build yet again our own castle made of wet sand and hungry dreams
close by the deep, deep blue sea.


Trudi Ralston.
January 27th, 2017.
" The innocent often suffer from the liberties of clever tongues." Kahlil Gibran ( 1883- 1931 ) " Sand and Foam "( 1926).