The Shifting Sands.

The world changes, time moves on.
Faces slip away, leaving only the echoes of their old selves
Hiding in the restless crowds.
Yet the beach remains timeless.
Here things are as they always were and always will be.
 
That boy burying his dad with single minded dedication
Will be buried by his own son in time to come
And his dad once buried the man with greying hair
Who is sitting in his chair staring out at the horizon
And doesn’t much like being called granddad.

That small girl cooling her bottom in the pool that she has made
Will bring her own small children here.
They will think that they are the first to see the sea,
The first to go out of their depth,
The first to scream at a live crab.

Those dogs charging along through the shallow waves
Living in the moment of their sunlit happiness
With their mouths open and their tails blazing
Have always been there.
Only their names have changed.

The donkeys walk their track
According to the ancient tradition of their own kind.
They expect little and know much,
Flicking their ears softly as they listen and plod patiently.
One child is much like another.

The seagulls know the score.
They wait with barely controlled anger, strutting their patch,
Flying in swirling curves over a scene awash with opportunity
Bitter experience has sharpened their beaks.
Life is theirs for the taking.

Stand in this spot in a hundred years time
And everything and nothing will have changed.
There still will be running, jumping, swimming, flying,
Shouting, laughing, eating, snoozing and digging.
People will live on.

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