Low Tide
I walk beside you,
across mudflap,
my blue gumboots,
over crackling oysters,
shells, green-ribbed pipi,
the trace of wading birds.
When the tide is out. What lies exposed:
river threads of mud, old brown stones
tiny mussels yet to grow
my sole prints left
on the oceans
bones.
Kia ora, my name is Angelina and I go to Grey Main School. I like your poem because it reminds me of the time me and my family were at the beach when it was low tide. My brother and I went boogie boarding. Next time you could and in a photo of the beach.
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