The lichen clung to the side of the rocks.
Bartered with the passing storm
Argued with the winter winds.
Picked at by the hungry birds.
Get baked by the blazing sun.
Could of course have been the Samphire.
Laying on the ledges or on cliff sides
at the edges and then I might be eaten.
More of a delicacy than me,
The only thing that touches me is the rolling lonely sea.
(c) Livvi