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.