Were I a crab on sun-set sand,
soft meat encased in tough cocoon —
Were troubles waves, I'd cling to land
below tide summon-ing clock moon.
I'd contemplate the grains of sand
to while away the surface crashes,
ironically protecting me from and
created by wave's lashes.
I'd ponder philosophically,
rather than tumble on the wave,
my place as Crab on earth, in sea
while buried still; I am not brave.