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Spray 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