a poem

The Shell

If thou couldst empty all thyself of self,
Like to a shell dishabited
Then might he find thee on an ocean shelf
And say 'this is not dead'
And fill thee with himself instead.
But thou art so replete with very thou
And has such shrewd activity
That when he comes he'll say, it is enow
Unto itself, t'were better let it be
It is so small and full
And has no need of me.

T.E. Brown