There are new things
along the shore
where storms have carved
seaweed into dark banks
against fallen stands of sea box.
A solitary gum is dying,
broken glass shines brightly
along the thin shell line.
Beach shacks jostle for the view
sharp edged in the sun,
as buildings grow.
We read the signs
sometimes so gently given
with their own strange beauty
showing us the passing world
that our children will,
crying, try to remember.
© Anne Chappel
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