At midday the high,

full-arching sun silvers

the marsh flats at low tide.

Even snails are silver pebbles

on the shining mud, and long

saw grasses are silver threads

waiting for the wind to weave them.

The boardwalk must be worth

millions in this metallic state.

Nothing moves. Birds hide

in their silver-reeded tents

and are satisfied.

(c) Copyright 2000. The Christian Science Publishing Society

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