An old short poem i found

Seashells and kelp wash up on the shore at 5am.
The dead bodies of the children of the sea discarded as gifts by the morning tide.
Children carry home the treasures of summer and salty air and timeless joy,
sheltered from the truth of time and death by the dwindling light of innocence.
Standing on the sand watching the sun go down in molten fire on the liquid horizon,
we have already forgotten the first steps that left the waters edge.
As we walk back to our ignorance, so too are our footprints washed away.