The small invasion of gentle waves,
Encroaching onto the dry trodden sands,
Whispering an unstoppable assault,
Of the moon-led tide.
As the waters destroy the mark of man,
Upon the sands,
It creates again a new blank canvas,
Waiting the new artist marks,
Applied by,
chasing dogs,
squealing children,
And,
A greyed couple,
Walking towards one more,
Horizon dipping sun.
