Leaving the Beach at the End of Day

The drifted sand over sun-baked clay
impedes our progress, prolongs our day.
A rose-red sun, gem in the sky,
a veil of pearl-white cloud floats by. 
We pick our way across the beach,
scarce foothold here within our reach.
Another page in our book of days,
grateful for an enshrouding haze,
our reddened flesh, lips split by sun,
are welcome payment for this day of fun.

For The Sunday Whirl 646 the words are: flesh sand clay scarce drifted pearl page split pick veil rose gem