Little grains of sand.

That’s what we are.

Floating in a sea of serendipity.

Settling to the edge, on the periphery.

Never knowing when is to be our destiny

To fall off the edge, or land in harmony.

Little grains of sand, falling through our hands.

Landing hard on firm ground

Or floating free in surf’s sound.

Little grains of sand, falling through our hands.

Little grains of sand.

That’s what we are.

Waiting for the hand of fate to brush us off

Her backside as she gets out of the water.

By Lockie Young