Nomad Writer

A box of pebbles

And cracked seashells

Broken echoes

Of an ocean lullaby

Remnants

Of pleasant memories

Rippling the dark sands

Washed of the dawn’s

Footprints

That had once lingered

In harlequin flushes

On the serene shores

Where her heart

Had touched the sun —

Such a pitiable thing now

Like a lost

Wandering orphan

Without a name

Without a place to belong