You walk the beach at Nazaré
and carry for your granddaughters
the shells and pebbles they’ve discovered –
each a treasure – until, hands full,

the girls must now decide again
which to save and which to return.
Walking, stooping, passing judgment,
they assay each piece, then keep

or toss or simply leave it in the sand.
For you, time’s the treasure – moments
measured by these pebbles and shells.
Climbing closer all the while,

massive waves break, run,
and tease the girls’ feet with foam.
This tide keeps an ancient time –
past without beginning, future

without end, indifferent to hands
full of precious moments, gifts
from these children just for you,
grandparents treasuring time.

– Douglas Twells