The ocean’s yawn is never-ending,
It longs to nap the whole day through
but morning rays scold the youth,
escort it swiftly to its dune,
for it must learn it’s not polite to snore,
and slothfulness will not be ignored.
The weary tide grabs hold of mother’s hand
resigned to rest a while on cool, grey sands.
© 2023 | K.Hartless