I hold a seashell in my hand.

I’d picked it up
on a morning walk
beside the breaking surf.

I hold it gently,
looking in wonder and awe
ar the intricate designs
that once protected
a living organism.

I hold a seashell in my hand.

As I walk along
I hold the shell
in my hand
almost forgetting
it’s there
as it fits just right
and is now
the same temperature
as my hand.

I hold a seashell in my hand.

I pause to remember the seashell
to feel its weight
and its place
along with the other shells I hold
as I start my long walk home.