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  • Writer's pictureTony Frobisher

Eastbourne Beach

Eastbourne Beach

I found myself on Eastbourne Beach, Pebble dashing between the waves. Colour washed in autumn hues, Yet sun baked in August rays.

A pebble crowd who witnessed, The beach feet and picknickers. Admired the promenade strollers and Blushed with midnight skinny-dippers.

Watched the lonely pier-dwellers, The skint amusement arcade raiders. Listened to sullen ice cream sellers, And blustering deck chair traders.

And with each breaking wave, The pebbles excited chimed. Who will pick us up and Toss back into the brine?

Then the happy children came And found the flattest, most rounded stones. And made summer memories last, As they tossed pebbles, wave-bound, home.

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