She sells

 She sells

She was convinced that in her early

Retirement while she still had her

Looks about her

That she could sell sea shells by

The seashore

So off she went 

At first it seemed a lost cause 

As beach goers would pause

And ask if she had the

Glory of India or any 

Precious Wentlewraps

And she would show them

Her assortment of cockles and

Cowry's and they'd exclaim

They could pick those up

Themselves

But she persisted

Selling sea shells by the seashore

Dreaming of Queen Conch's

And Scotch bonnets

Upon the low tides

Leaving me to hold the nautilus 

To my ear

In hopes a word from her

I might hear.