I dreamt of a day on a beach in Portugal,
The sand was glistening,
full of wood colored so perfectly,
that only time could paint.
The sand sparkled on my legs,
as I watched the wood,
some pieces were sliding in and out
of the ocean,
as dancing shells often do.
I could see the wood in my house,
in my hands, as I showed my future children,
what time can do to a piece well preserved.
And here I am, years later,
holding the most perfectly aged
Pair of Portuguese lamps,
Showing my daughter the beauty of things
and things untouched.