Sand in the furnace  
Molten glass on the pipe  
Carefully crafted  
into a bottle brown.  

Filled with wine
Sent to sea
far away shores
to see.

Storms rage
pushing the ship
to the rocks.

On the beach lies
the wreckage of lives
Bottles broken
wine merged with the sea.

Time and tide march slowly on
bottles break against the rock
water and sand grind against the sharp edge.

Slowly the edges soften
the glass rounds
and catches the sun.

Feet walk across the beach
hands reach down
and hold the prize to the sun
seeing the world reflected
in the broken bottle.

That’s the poem for this week.  I won’t be posting much this week to give me time to focus on my book.  I’ll have an update on the cross on Wednesday.

Till next week,

Andrew