Low tide
I walk beside you
across mudflats in
my blue gumboots,
over crackling oyster
shells, green-ribbed pipe,
the traces of wading birds.
When the tide is out, what lies exposed:
river threads of mud, old brown stones,
tiny muscles yet to grow;
my sole prince left
to the ocean's
bones.
Sarah Penwarden
Kia ora, I'm Samantha and I go to the other St Patrick's school.
ReplyDeleteI read through your poem and thought that you have done such a great job on it! Everything you wrote flowed from the start to the end. You used great describing words and this really caught my attention. I am a little bit confused though if these two paragraphs are the same poem so maybe next time if they are put a title on both or if they are not the same make sure to keep the poem in the same tense. Any way I have to go leave comments on other work so blog ya later.