Along the beach that winds

around the misty bay,

where the sea curves

just a little to fall off the edge

of the world,

there lives a secret work

of artist unknown,

that sits undisturbed

in the weeded sand.

 

It is made of the gothic still trees

that once lived in tall report

and looked out to the bay

but now lie deathly in

the cradling sand,

bleached and stark,

and twisted all in

charcoal relief,

and manufactured in 3D.

 

Their roots that once sucked

nurture from the sandy washed soil

lie naked and exposed for

us to look at and wonder why

they have fallen to their artistic death

along this lonely deserted

stretch of galleried beach.

 

And the banks from whence

they came and where they grew from seed

are now eroded and fallen in a heap,

and washed by the insistence of the tide

that flows and does its job

in keeping the gallery clean.

 

The trees lie sold to death and preserved

in the salt that is given by the sculpture’s hand

who jealously guards this precious work

and leaves it waiting for

all generations who wish to make

the walk and come and see

nature’s art upon the

tiny specks of sand.

 

8/4/2017