The Boy On The Beach
The Boy on the Beach
The boy sat cross-legged on the sands;
His bony knees held in his hands,
His hair, all tousled by the breeze
Which blew in from the open seas.
His countenance was not of joy;
Quite the reverse, for this small boy
Looked rather sad. He heaved a sigh
And rubbed at his now leaking eye.
The sun was very bright that day,
The waters clear, that held their sway,
The sands, quite golden now at noon,
A perfect summers day in June.
This one small boy turned round as he
Heard a faint yell: looked up to see
Another boy, approaching fast –
First boy jumped to his feet at last.
The boy approaching shouted: “Hey!
I’ve run ever such a long way –
To say I’m sorry,
And please can we be friends again?”
John rubbed his eyes all hastily:
A boy does not wish folk to see
His tears. Instead, his freckled face
Broke out in smiles: that’s no disgrace.
There on the sands
Both the small boys
Solemn, shook hands.
I watched them run towards the sea
The sun shone bright on them
And me.
