Poetry by Kevin Cowdall
Strolling along the shore
I find a lone scallop shell
left there, high and dry,
by the earlier tidal swell,
and my reverie is broken
for a time while I dwell.
I stand in contemplative solitude
holding it in the palm of my hand,
white and pink and cream,
and brush away the clinging sand;
examining its polished smoothness,
tracing each perfect ridge and band,
wondering how many countless tides
it has taken to bring it here today.
I marvel at such simple perfection
and return it to where it lay.
I linger for a moment longer,
then continue on my way.