A whiff of the wind has ruffled the seaweed
Spread like intestines on bleached beaches.
The place where the sky with the ocean meets
Is turning all pink and peachy.
A lonely yacht like a knight's spear
Is stuck in the pulp of the ocean,
With a sagging sail and a rod in the rear
It is drifting without motion.
Touseled seagulls with sharp beaks
Are resting on the empty wharf.
The waves're slapping and smacking beneath
Acquiring the color of mauve.
The sun is dangling like a fancy ring
Pierced in the belly of the wan sky.
The cool breeze is soothing the inflamed ground
Another day is slowly passing by.
2001
At the beach
© Copyright: Олле, 2003
Свидетельство о публикации №103122601188
Свидетельство о публикации №103122601188
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