Shell

Scattered shells along the shore Blaze a trail for many a lore The waves lap up against the sands The birds fly over all the lands I do not know the time of day For now it is the month of may The shells watch over as seagulls play Come what may, here I say A little shard, among drift wood, Interspersed with sea glass and little bits of food, It adds its mark along the shore Who could ever ask for more?