॥ Ksh:ति॥ 

They walk the shore, where tides embrace,
Father and daughter, a slow, soft pace.
The morning sun, a golden hue,
Paints the sky in shades of blue.
Her tiny hands reach for the sand,
Collecting shells, an ocean’s strand.
Each shell a secret, each one a spark,
Of ancient whispers in the dark.
A day well spent, in timeless grace,
Father and daughter, heart to place.
Their shells, like memories, will stay—
Reminders of this fleeting day.
A product born from ocean’s sweep,
A love that’s gathered, pure and deep