The White Sea

The white sea,
Laps up to the flapping French windows.
Millions of tiny heads,
Dance and swim in a thick jelly type grass.

Talking among themselves,
You see their heads wobbling;
Back and for between conversations,
Finding all the news.

Bathing their long slender bodies,
In the stifling rays.
Worshipping the glorious sunshine,
They do not turn red with heated embarrassment.

No matter what life throws at their heads;
They spring back to life like white wild fire.
Even when threatened with the black blades,
Within days they’re back again.

The white sea washes me clean,
Stealing my life away for a second.
I drift on the tide then return to shore,
Break is over time to begin again.

17th May 1998