Footprints

The tiny specs sparkle like rain,

multi-coloured little grain.

Footsteps sink below the surface,

the walls of the imprint like a canyon of constrain.

Around the imprint conch shells sit waiting

for the mother of all to come, anticipating.

As she draws close, the second tide of the day,

the creatures with the footprints

will come out to play.

These creatures usually leave dangerous things

that living sea-birds get trapped in their wings.

Though this creature in particular

is an unusual subject.

The grains watch as it picks up it's brothers hazardous waste.

He places it in a bag and tuts with distaste.

The mother applauds with a crash on the shore,

the breeze whistles with harmony and thanks;

This creature is one of the last one's of it's kind-

That has not yet shut the door on saving the

ocean's floor.