In haze they lie, mountainous guardians of the bay
sculpted by tales of millenia
the trodden sands are alive.
Feet run to the sea
chilled screams amongst the waves
half clad, determined
making moments memorable
frist chance
maybe the last.
Sun gilded gold sand ridges
trap broken shells
and a watery sky
and Dads, and dogs
and balls fly by
to the shrieks of childhoods careless joy.
Ciaran Burke
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