by Nick Gisburne
They’re calling me, to hatch, to break the shell,
But why, when I am safe and sound inside?
I’m calm, complete, unworried, doing well,
Beyond the pain, the screams, of those who died.
I’m deeply unreceptive to the plan,
The terms of service scratched inside this egg.
We’re all supposed to join a happy clan
Of swimmers, but indulge me, please, I beg.
A thousand birds are waiting on the beach.
They sound a little peckish, to be blunt.
I’m buried in the sand. I’m out of reach.
So why would I be keen to join the hunt?
A reptile, riled, resistant to the crack,
I turtley refuse to be a snack.
