The Sanderlings

Long beaked sea-birds seek out
little morsels on the shore.
Anything they eke out
is a thing they’re thankful for.

Eagerly sanderlings scurry
as the waves retreat;
time is food; they’ve got to hurry
if they want to eat.

Likewise, I scratch at my notebook
with my ballpoint pen;
for everything at which I look
I may never see again.