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The Crab MAG
What a cute crustaceous critter
Glossy pigment, richest hues.
Nature’s best kiln-fired glaze ware,
Burned with reds and tans and blues.
You go clicking ’cross the shallows
Snapping plankton from the silt.
Such power in your tiny frame,
Yet so delicately built.
Afternoon rain pitters your shell,
And there’s the quiet sound
Of salt-crusted claws turning o’er
Rocks in your gravel playground.
And when the sun’s glow glides away
From the soft saltwater shore,
So shall you, tiny tank, teeter
Out of sight forevermore.
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