We all descend - scraped knees and sun-bleached hair into the dusk
Ready to unearth black treasure from the Sound�s salty jaws
A motley expedition - unarmed, no leader -
Just a shoal of ripe fingers scraping flesh from the ebbing tide
Sticky roe clusters make their escape along the regurgitating surf
As we continue to scuttle - frenzied - for those precious pearls, hidden so deeply
along the shore's edge.
