Dawn and a low tide on Brighton Beach
Sands uncovered squelching under foot
Ripples rather than waves gently rolling to the pebbles
Wind but a breeze yet a cold edge to its freshness
It is winter after all
Silhouette structures, rusting geometries
A lone metal detectorist, equipped and earnest
Patterned reflections, dark and grey
It is winter after all
To the west, a rising sun so gold it could be rich
Laying down its lights and beams for all to see
And a column of fiery blazing sand
Inviting you to walk that way, to burn
It is winter after all
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