Small, almost insignificant
I knelt to pick it up, felt it round,
dimpled and smooth in my palm
like an ornamental lemon. Complete,

Baked and hardened in sand, fading.
The carnivorous sun strips away flesh,
leaves bones in the flotsam and jetsam,
pram wheels, seaweed, the odd bin-bag

And this bright vase of wind and light,
fluted and shaped like glass, sounding
porcelain to the touch. Washed out
and renewed in layers of tide,

Given life in death and beauty
in this garden of shingle, wild
as the gulls; anonymous. Captured
by kids with red buckets and wellies who

Hold it up to hear the Sea,
I remember when my Sister told me
the sound you can hear is your own blood pumping,
the echo of your own heart's rhythm in the shell.
All poems are home made! This one was home-made by me.
Thanks for all your comments, I enjoyed writing this one.
Here, I'm not going to argue with you, Jessica, I'll take your comments on board.