1.
A fingernail of pure white sand
lapped by a green that deepens into blue
became a racetrack for the children from the tents
that dotted the rocky point .
Sandcastle hurdles , with deep dug moats
that fell or filled with the rising tide were remade
to jump or crush or splash in with abandon.

2.
The heat that flowed above the rows of vines
gave way to the long deep cool of the cellars
as the trucks of grapes were trundled in for pressing .
Quietly, the huge brown waiting casks
squatted like elephants in the gloom,
their long pipe trunks carrying off the wine
that smelt like flowers in the blending vats.

3.
Back across the ranges to the coast ,where now
we could present the growing children .
We too were welcomed , for bringing them as gifts .
Then after the smiles and hugs and How they've grown!
they were indulged with gifts and minor banquets.
For that short while we found ourselves replaced
but happy to find for ourselves some quiet time .

4.
Then yet another summer of return
to the bay where now that same white sand
invited the children to enjoy what we had known .
But now time's passing had brought other ways
to fill their moments , and we too could turn
Back to our own lives and a renewal .

5.
And all the summers since those youthful times
have brought their own rewards , less varied now
as we can watch the summers' cycles pass
renewing in others the youth that we have known.