she hasn’t thought of selling her seashells
iridescent, on the seashore
she is absorbed in finding the finest.
barefoot, hair in last night’s poney-tail
blue bucket swinging from one hand.

the other reaching, smoothing off sand
still damp from the morning tide
which came,
and went
with the deepest of bows:
offering glistening porcelain
as gifts for a princess
seashells, on the seashore.