The Shell

Before the tide there lies a shell

secretly listening for the shore,

waiting for the starfish to tell

with news of evermore.

'Neath the ocean lies a vessel

bullion lost, torn masts run down,

with which the Sirens there now wrestle

the forgotten ghosts of the Crown.

"To me, to me!" they wantonly beckon

"Down here, to us!", they plead and cry"

Our souls are lost we fear to reckon,

in our loneliness, we wish not to die."

The shell understands but is immobile

feigning action while paralyzed.

Yet in its heart, ignoble,

with guilty pleasure, it hears their cries.