Me And My Tides
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Anthea Bradfield
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Poetry
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2015
As I lay, the shine glistens from high,
the gull’s siren past the gleaming hot air.
I close my eyes as the warm crust sweeps by,
the rolls and swells of the low blue are fair.
As hands spread within the warmth, I feel stone,
bundled with smooth chips of the present shell.
With a four legged digging up the bone,
the laughter of youth echoes through as bells.
The memories begin to up lift now,
material shading my new pale skin.
Memories in black and white, as in cow,
a cherishing child, not yet to have sin.
These moments flashing through my blue aged eyes,
Of the many times I have been at tides.