I found it where the tide rolled slow,
In pools of silver-pink and glow.
No hand had plucked, no string had stirred,
Yet something sang without a word.
I held it close the way you do —
A shell that whispers something true.
And in that pause between the waves,
A thread of sound, as soft as caves.
Since then, when evening turns to hush,
I carry it where tide pools blush.
Not all are played by touch, I find —
Some instruments are played with mind.