The Crab
The crab on the salty sandy sod,
Making his way to the cold sea,
This odd crustacean decapod,
Crabbiest thing in the briny deep.
Yet, there is a swagger about him,
That’s the envy of all others,
Doesn’t value being proper or prim,
Nor have need to regale another.
Confident he will make the water,
He has done it a thousand times,
Nothing in his way that bothers,
Only nine empty diet drink cans.
Yikes, there approaches a dark shadow,
Must abruptly move all those legs,
This could be something of matter,
The shadow is carrying a keg.
It’s a mad dash to the ocean blue,
To escape what could be trouble,
This could be day a crab might rue,
Time for the ten-legged crab shuffle.
The crab makes it to the briny deep,
Shirks a crustacean tragedy,
Wasn’t the time to slumber or sleep,
Or shadow claims his anatomy.
Copyright © David Moore | Year Posted 2021
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