It Was A Sunday

Flickering
Like an odd,
Dirty fleck
On misty specs,

A castle slowly
Crumbled
In the distance.

All frail and forlorn,

It swayed and then
Sank in stages,

Grumbling final moans
And then sighing,

Lost in a hope
Long forgot.

The waves swept
Incessant and carefree,

Nothing grieved,

The shoreline bent
Like a crooked wince

Until the sand
Disappeared from sight,

And we walked hand in hand
As the sun started setting;

Flocks of hungry gulls
Feasted on the waste
Left in stray,
Washed-up netting,

Clouds danced,
All duplicated rhythms
And digressions
Loosely spreading,

We headed home
Without messing,

It was a Sunday.

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