The Seashell

A gift from the sea sits
in the dusty cupboard like lost memories
Filled with secrets, it sits like a coin in the fountain
When I look at it,
I see--
a colourful conch on the sun-kissed beaches
But as the clock ticks,
I forget it sits awaiting
So now and then,
When I hear the percussion frog,
it reminds me of when I traced my fingers across its grooved surface
My seashell