At the beach when I was young,
The summer day was very long.
Sandy feet and sun-burned skin,
Street lights on, had to be in.
Black and white TV we’d gaze,
Oops, I give away my age.
To my room with shells collected,
Broken ones equally accepted.
One creature on sea bottom creeps,
Positive proof beauty’s skin deep.
Who the heck gave it its name?
No resemblance to a buck, or change.
But, Sand dollar is its label,
In the sun on the picnic table.
To dry off all of its green fuzz.
Always done this way, because.
To reveal the beauty beneath.
To the eye truly a treat.
From nature its body is carved,
With an image that renders a star.
Now white from the sun’s bright bleach,
Makes me miss my days at the beach.
The Sand Dollar I like the most,
Gathered hot days on the East Coast.
Its shell today like a screen I gaze.
In color now, clearly the days.
This round little shell of me reminds.
Better part of my childhood times.