A Ten line poem written by the author whilst on a Turkish Beach.
Foam clouds hit sand – they call it the tide..
the edge of the sea, where plants reside.
Turning around from blue into white,
crisp little waves – sharp and bright.
Landing from water, its goods and its wares,
disposing the sea of its rubbish without care.
As shellfish take ‘vantage of the coolness of th’sea,
cocky crustaceans run on th’sands wi some glee.
As seawater washes on the shells in the sand,
the edge of the sea makes everything grand