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Friday, March 8, 2013

Poached Soul


SHE COLLECTED
The prettiest shells at the shore
Thought, "The sea won't miss those I adore
I need many more to sell in my store"
Poseidon roared, "Stop! I implore!"

'Twas written in nautical lore.

She used to make trinkets and rings galore
Sold  them recklessly; she wasn't poor
Got locked in a shell–spit up on the shore
For another collector to pick up off the floor.

'Twas written in nautical lore.

Laughing, she sticks her head out the conch
Upon her paunch she hides her tranche
Skin's the color of poached soul–or a blanch
For eternity she's lost her panache.

Probably end up as somebody's cache.



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