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The Final Grains of Sand
November 22, 2022
I take some in my hand,
Intending to keep it forever,
But as soon as I stand,
The sand slips from my grasp.
I feel it trickle down my fingers,
Tickling me as it goes.
I try to grasp harder,
But it just never slows.
And in a sense it flows on,
And on
And on.
Suddenly, there is a breeze,
And the final grain leaves,
Falling and flowing like fountains of tears,
Calling and crying but nobody hears.
The last one drifts off
And I am left with none,
But it continues on,
It is I who is done.
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This was a poem written as part of my school course submission - 8th grade English