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The Path to the Beach

The lazy looped sky looked sad

As the sand bells gathered

Above the sleeping town

 

I was on the path to the beach

 

You were sitting in your sham castle

 

There were many ribbons in your hair of varying lengths

Some dangled from the tower

Dancing occasionally in the storm breezes

 

I had a blue ribbon tied to my wrist

 

The beach was deserted

 

I swam without inhibition

 

So did you

 

But we did not speak

 

On my return to the path I met a

Prisoner of Conscience

Who having absconded

From his prison

Who was as hiding in the trees

That overlooked the beach

 

At first I thought he was spying on you

And was trying to steal your freedom

So I tied him to a tree with your ribbons

The poor man wept

So I released him

 

He told me of the wooden table

In his cell

And of the whitewashed walls

Much spoiled

 

You emerged from the sea

And were soon at your window

Tying your ribbons together

Some dangled from the tower

Dancing occasionally in the storm breezes

 

Although the summer had been long

It was coming to an end

So I agreed to remain with the prisoner

Near to the trees that overlooked the beach

As we both awaited St Lucy’s Day