SHARK
Into the setting sun
A sandy shark does swim.
His fins are full and fleshy
His countenance is grim.
His teeth are bright and shiny
Too numerous to count.
His beady eye must scan the sea
For fish on which to pounce.
The swarms of fish that pass him by
Sense well his bad intent.
They dart and turn to left and right
Up, down, til danger spent.
The sea is salty, so they say,
From tears of the departed.
A shark cares not for idle gloom
His hungers must be sated.
His fins he flicks to ride the swell
He follows every sighting
Of flesh that would a main meal make
From rendering and biting.
A fish, a crab, an eel, a corpse
A lost and frightened swimmer.
All of these might pass his lips
And down the hatch as dinner!