She turns them over in her slow hands,
as did the sea sending them to her:
broken bits from the mazarine maze,
they are the calmest things on this sand.
The unbroken children splash and shout,
rough as surf, gay as their nesting towels.
But she plays soberly with the sea's
small change and hums back to it its slow vowels.
*When the poem was written, the designation
Down syndrome was not common terminology.