ManicWorld Magazine

Beside the beach, she gathered
and sold sea shells,
whispers of the ocean
in each curve that swells.
Moonlight draped the sands, where
the tide softly tells
tales of wanderlust, where
the wild wave dwells.

Her hands, like gulls
in flight, danced
lightly in the breeze, crafting tales
from salt, like a poet with ease.
Each shell a vessel, a story
borne of dreams,
a whisper of the past in the tide’s
gentle schemes.

In colors of dawn, where
the horizon ignites,
she gathered the secrets, like
stars in the night.
A symphony of echoes, in
twilight’s embrace,
each shell a heartbeat,
a rhythm, a trace.

Children laughed like seashells
tossed, bright and free,
as she offered treasures,
reflections of the sea.
In the marketplace of dreams,
love wove through the air,
the ocean’s warm hug,
a soft, salty prayer.

But storms brew within, like
shadows of regret,
for each shell she sold,
a piece of her met.
The tide pulls away, like
memories in flight, yet still,
she stands firm,
a lighthouse of light.

Beside the beach, she
sold her sea shells,
With each whispered story, the
ocean’s heart swells.
A tapestry woven of joy, loss,
and spells,
In the heart of the sand,
where wild magic dwells.