how beautiful is the idea ,
that we keep .
moreover it's just a seed ,
been planted a little deep ,
which is nourished all along,
to be vulnerable when someone peeks,
how hard is it then to let go of the same ,


things of beauty never last ,
the joy in the bliss of the word great ,
clenched wrist , hard we tried ,
yet they all fade ,
for the thinnest of it , which we belong,
our feet already shaped ,


like the sand on the coast ,
they are vast and ashore ,
when hands been stretched far too long ,
for the land offshore ,


things of beauty , hard to keep ,
while awe of it unfolds ,
the very ounce on the skin ,
moaning the same old chorus .


and for your feet there is few ,
whenever the shape seems small ,
or sand is due ,
i will be glad to offer mine ,
but i am someone off thy shore ,
selling sand ,
far and too forgotten to find.