Passion of Refined Gladness
She never gets bored with loneliness, whilst observing golden sands caressing her delicate feet, and skipping tides that dance around her cerebral inhibitions.
She pushes boundaries, colours and skies aside to head out for another day in paradise found.
Robinson Crusoe she’s not, but alone with her thoughts she gathers ‘shells and things’, she captures ‘moments’ from nostalgic splendour, spending her days regarding them in a passion of refined gladness….
She is Summer days in beautiful dalliance, twirling her white parasol and its frills, with distant pounding of crushing waves orchestrating to the beat of her ‘one in a million’ heart and subtle smile, becoming wider during endless hours regaling in the tepid, but vacant breeze.
She never toys with decadence, always eloquently pulls her sunhat below eye level and plays ‘footsie’ as squalls wash the fine grains of time from between her spring like toes, and away for another foray into this world where she can be herself….
©Nick Hawkins, all poetry rights reserved.