The ghastly winds play in her brown curls
As they make their way through the sand
Taking bits and pieces with them.
A fresh scent of salt
And a girls perfume linger
As the wind slows its pace to a simmer.
Her baby blue eyes twinkle with glee
As the rays caress their innocence.
The toasty color or the sand
Sorting through her freshly painted toes.
Oh how I wish that was me.
Still I have never been to the beach.
I will never be able to go to the beach
And feel the salty air against
My rosy red cheeks.
Oh how I wish that was me.
Yet my Cystic Fibrosis won’t let me free.