On the soft sand shoals of Shalimar
Where the pale moon spins its beams -
I met the seashell seller's daughter,
Casting silk for carp and bream.
Her father had been an oyster man
And a fisherman by birth,
And showed her where the Merfolk dwelled,
Stealing fortunes from the surf.
She gathered weathered whelks and conchs,
Searched the waves for cockles bright;
She wove briny nets from rain and foam,
Silver eels that cracked the light.
And I'll help her harvest gillyfish,
Catch pricklestars where they hide;
For she's caught me in her sieve of dreams,
My heart floating on her tides.
A gift for
Shells and bubbles