Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Monday, July 13, 2015

Sarasota Summers

Children Playing on the Beach by Mary Cassatt
I walk along the ocean's edge today
I feel the warm, wet sand beneath my toes
Remembering the times I used to play
With grandmother in summers long ago

Collecting seashells buried in the sand
Like treasures waiting just for us to find
Along the beach we wandered, hand in hand
Our shoes as well as worries left behind

And though today  I walk the beach alone
I still keep my eyes cast upon the sand
To search for seashells even though I'm grown
Our treasures there to seek within the strand

I gaze upon my shells and feel so blessed
Those Sarasota summers were the best!

submitted for Imaginary Garden With Real Toads, The Edge


Marcoantonio Arellano (Nene) said...

fond memories that echo in the shells. nice reminder mi amiga

Margaret said...

Treasures of hand holding and the surpriaes of nature - I dearly love those things too and hope my children remember them. Sweet poem

Kerry O'Connor said...

This is a stylish sonnet, LM. I love the sound qualities, and what better sounding word could there be than Sarasota? It seems quite magical to me.

Buddah Moskowitz said...

Unabashedly sentiment and beautiful. Loved this one.

C.C. said...

So nice to be able to have something...like the seashells...as a tangible keepsake to remind you of those Sarasota memories.