Foamy, translucent blue swells
give birth to an abundance of tiny seashells.
A few find their path and scuttle away,
but many more find themselves lost in the vast array.
The stranded ones lie in crevices hoping they’ll be found
before the savage sea pounds them into the ground.
A few get noticed by curious little hands,
but most get tossed back into the abrasive sand.
The ones that survive are mostly made of pristine perfection
while the others bide their time in a constant state of rejection.
Silently they wish for secret potions that do not exist,
at last being pulled under, lost to the murky mist.
© 2021 Michelle Cook
Writing prompt: Foaming oceans and secret potions