Untouched

She tugs at the shore,
leaving bits of herself behind to soak into the sand,
while collecting small treasures to horde beneath her waves.
Salt mingles with the breeze that lifts her up and draws her back,
carrying the roaring din of the songs she sings while making her way.
Light paints her hair with the soft palette of a setting sun.
She comes, and goes,
Comes, and goes,
Comes, and goes,
Her work untouched by anyone.

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