The Beach

No wind, flat sea, just token waves,

Enough to jangle shells,

Not good for the Surfer,

Who longs for larger swells.

Sand, shells, plastic pellets,

Now maram grass is present,

On the dunes bloom lupens,

Yellow like lanterns,

And smelling not unpleasent.

The day wears on,

Wet sand glows pink from the setting sun,

There wheeling on patrol,

A lone seagull,

Day's work almost done.