My Can Is History

On the shores of the vast sea
without anxiety I saunter
after all,what’s summer meant for?
But relishing the gentle atmosphere?

Feeling the murky waters
sometimes plunging in them
the waves comfort me
to the farthest side I travel

but the mighty Zola asleep it isn’t
always with zest awaits the beast
to grasp and gnash its prey
as it dances around,wagging it’s tail

and i was no exception
my poor leg wailed in its jaws
tearing it into pieces
never to be picked up

an amputation ensues
now i cannot visit the sea
i cannot pay visits now,not now,not ever
my can is history.

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