A Poem For Friday

Shell Seekers

A Pale half moon
Lies buttonholed
Against the morning sky as I
Walk quietly along the shore
Between the sounds of waves
Lapping gently at my feet
And gulls chattering overhead

Jaded as I am by many other trips
To summer shores, I
Scan the mounded piles
Arranged by foamy breakers overnight
Choosing only perfect shells
Of sunset hues
Undamaged by the crashing surf
That cast them there

And yet, who really chooses - Is it I
Or these frothy salt waves
That rush between sand shod feet
Like impatient givers of gifts
Perceiving a lack of appreciation
And taking back
Those for which I pause too long

Cynthia A. Conciatu
25th Annual FSPA Convention Award

Rosamunde Pilcher wrote a wonderful book that I have read many times. It's called "The Shell Seekers." I purposely used her title for this poem which was inspired by a quiet morning of shell collecting on Sanibel Island.

Several years ago, I wrote Rosemunde a note thanking her for her wonderful novels, and told her how much I enjoyed reading them. Several weeks later I received a hand typed reply thanking me for taking the time to comment on her writing. I keep it in my copy of "Coming Home."