Turning rocks again

The sea retreats
revealing so many treasures.
Pools glint and dazzle,
brighter than diamonds.
But these are priceless.
And in them real rocks.
The kind which hide things
too large for a finger.
But just the right size
for life to linger.

Monsters of the deep
sideways creep.
Here, things with hard shells,
easily broken,
not designed to fall from a height,
reside and abide
until the next high tide
and freedom.

A wise man named this place
for it bridges years.
And each time I turn another stone,
seeking something wondrous,
I return.
And I am there often,
enchanted by what lurks under stones.