The sun comes up, the earth gets warm, the masses rush to the beach, in an unorganised swarm.

The waves wash up and tickle the sand, pulling in and back out, oh isn’t it grand.

A little girl with an ice cream dripping down her limb, her brother rushes to the writhing water, desperate for a swim. 

The retired community baking in pleasure, the last few summers turning their skin into leather.

The shore line so crowded, people packed like sardines in a tin, a few people avoiding the ocean, their Jaws paranoia has them always searching for a fin.  

It will never be empty in the months that are warm, the beach will always call, for that human swarm.

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