Poetry

Her Piece of Sand

The lady watches summer sand

slowly drift by, one piece is still in her hand

One tiny speck of eternity

without love it will not ever be

Feelings can make it real,

but still, blindness can conceal

She slowly approaches the van

knowing love is still in her hand

The sudden teardrops wash it from her hand

taking with it, her piece of sand

Anxiously she looks, crying most desperately:

“where can it be?”

The teardrops continuously flow

while inside she begins to grow

Running down her cheeks they dry,

but deep inside, she still cries

Slowly her life continues

she gets caught up in something new

Until one day someone touches her hand

and in it she finds her piece of sand.

Originally published in American Poetry Anthology (Fall 1986)
Reprinted by permission