Fat-pronged starfish, oyster-fed,
That slow on spirit fingers slide;
Snails in fat blue folds that spread
Purple feet below the tide;
Crabs that, humped in stolen homes,
Fence from doors they cannot lock;
Polyps budded pink like wombs
Filamented to the rock;
Sand-dabs sandside up in pools,
That batlike slip the snatching hand;
Tiny mackerel trapped in twinkling schools;
The little silver eels that dive into the sand;
Mussels with broken hinges, sea-crabs lopped
Of legs, black razor-clams split double, dried
Sea dollars, limpets chivied loose and dropped
Like stranded dories rolling on their side
— They lose their juice and stiffen in the sun:
The tide that shrinks has shed them like a scurf;
The tide that floods will stir with waves that stun
Frail shapes that crush before the faintest surf.
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