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by Linda Leavitt

Last summer's memory
of baptism by brine
held fast in your mind
and made you afraid
that the sea was a gypsy
just aching to steal you away

but today
the salt spray
tickles your cheeks and
you tease the danger
running ever closer
"c'mon waves, c'mon waves"
chasing the tide
then running to hide
in my safe embrace

your sandy, pink face
glows with unsinkable joy --
your genes, gypsy child,
like mine, hold the thirst
for sand and salt spray
on an endless beach day.
© Copyright 1997, Linda Leavitt, All Rights Reserved

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Document last modified on: 12/01/1997

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