Sea and suncream sewn into the scent,
The scent of the towels that the gone-by has wet.
And though the towels have now dried the fabric to rigid,
The salt in the cotton will never be ridded.
Those granules of time which make your mind smile,
To look back at those days just for a while,
No matter what upon the morrow will arise,
It could never thieve what those yesterdays comprise.
A family on a beach; that’s a bad day’s demise.