My feet race fast across the scorching sand,
Towards my mother who is calling me.
A melting ice-cream held out for my hand,
Lips now cold, while me feet are scalding me.
So sweet it tastes, it is almost sickly.
My hands are a mess and so is my face.
No time to waste I must eat this quickly.
No time for manners, it’s too late for grace.
The sticky dripping has now reached my toes,
It is mixing with the sand at my feet.
It feels unpleasant and tacky, it’s gross!
But a small price to pay for this sweet treat.
This melting moment, I wish it could stay,
All year round, not just on a summer’s day.
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The Devil's Triangle
The sails ruffled in the breeze as we cruised along. The Sea Breeze was a mid-size catamaran that sailed out of Royal Naval Dockyard in Bermuda. We had booked this trip weeks in advance and were now looking at our Captain, Spike and two boat hands. Paddy and Wilson seemed like nice guys, joking around with the passengers and telling us some stories about Bermuda that only locals would know. Their island accents sounded almost British but they were pleasant to listen to.
By Barbara Gode Wilesabout 19 hours ago in Fiction
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