Feet sink into the wet sand,

The waves crash against my legs as I walk collecting shells in my hand.

Beautiful, colorful, each its own kind,

Of all sizes and shapes that nowhere else I would find.

Each with their own stories,

All took a different path,

I am sorry I cannot recount their histories,

How they managed to survive the ocean’s tumultuous wrath.

As bubbles burst and seaweed is washed ashore,

I know I have not seen them all, there are so many more.

I look out upon the surface of the ocean,

How it flows with such graceful motion,

Yet I know the fierce strength of the riptide,

That just out of sight endless dangers hide.

But I won’t stop plunging into the depths,

To continue my search and embrace the challenges,

Perhaps one day someone will stop me along the shore,

And maybe, just maybe I will be able to share my story.