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COMMON QUESTIONS
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You cannot see the life in me
I hide inside my shell
It protects me from the outside world
Keeps me safe from harm
Until some human comes along and picks me off the rock
Then its off to the kitchen and the stockpot
Scallop Shell
Tasty mollusk
harvested by fisherman
leaves a beautiful
symmetrical shell
that adorns gardens.
Shell no longer protects.
The flow is the show.
Skin, the shell that holds the soul.
Textures, patterns, swirls.
Look what I found in my pants, Mom after I spent the day at Mission Bay neat, huh?
The Shell
As I walk upon the sand, of a lonely beach
On the northern California coast
There is drift woods spread all over the place
But In the wash of waves that splash on the sand beneath my feet
I see a small shell of a home that used to be
A place where a creature lived
Now just an empty broken shell remains
We only think of man on this world stage
But do we have more rights than all the other living things
The shell, what’s left of it sits in my hand, but the future life of all living things, resides in the hands of Man!
�n
A wrinkle in time a shell from the sea,
Traveling far and wide and ending with me.
Where have you been? Where have you gone?
A salty treasure that I shall take home.
© Cynthia Clark
The shell and me
It's seen as many centuries
Which are nil, oh well...
So just like me
It can only boast sincerely
Of surviving through the times,
Through torrents and storms
Abrasions and collisions
Dust and grime and shallow times,
And coming out swimmingly
To be admired for its beauty
Despite its harrowed life (hopefully)
By Dina Salysa
Please make a donation today!
You cannot see the life in me
I hide inside my shell
It protects me from the outside world
Keeps me safe from harm
Until some human comes along and picks me off the rock
Then its off to the kitchen and the stockpot
Scallop Shell
Tasty mollusk
harvested by fisherman
leaves a beautiful
symmetrical shell
that adorns gardens.
Shell no longer protects.
The flow is the show.
Skin, the shell that holds the soul.
Textures, patterns, swirls.
Look what I found in my pants, Mom after I spent the day at Mission Bay neat, huh?
The Shell
As I walk upon the sand, of a lonely beach
On the northern California coast
There is drift woods spread all over the place
But In the wash of waves that splash on the sand beneath my feet
I see a small shell of a home that used to be
A place where a creature lived
Now just an empty broken shell remains
We only think of man on this world stage
But do we have more rights than all the other living things
The shell, what’s left of it sits in my hand, but the future life of all living things, resides in the hands of Man!
�n
A wrinkle in time a shell from the sea,
Traveling far and wide and ending with me.
Where have you been? Where have you gone?
A salty treasure that I shall take home.
© Cynthia Clark
The shell and me
It's seen as many centuries
Which are nil, oh well...
So just like me
It can only boast sincerely
Of surviving through the times,
Through torrents and storms
Abrasions and collisions
Dust and grime and shallow times,
And coming out swimmingly
To be admired for its beauty
Despite its harrowed life (hopefully)
By Dina Salysa