Standing by the loch
Looking outwards
Wistfully watching
Breeze rustling twigs
Waves, not real ones
Wash gently, slowly
On the man-made beach
Sloping to the waterline
The boat bobs unmanned
Free from prying hands
Cold and lonely
An engine without spark
The winter chill warming
Spring not yet holding
The sand warm between toes
After the barefoot stream
The child plays happily
Sand collected together
Mounds of spoil swept
With love and joy
A cold shower shared
Sheltered by the shed
Passes without malice
Wind ushering onwards
As eyes survey the space
The peace and freedom
Visions of joy shared
Old become young.
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