While in Florida that summer,
when I received Mickey's autograph;
and the"Back to the Future" rides were unending;
and tornado warningsseemed like death;
and the beach was no fun
Because my infinite number ofcuts and scrapes
stung from the ocean,
and because I enjoyed swimming withmy mouth open
but the salt didn't taste too good,
and there wasn't aseashell in sight
for me to go collecting,
so instead,
I sat on thebeach
and watched people.

I sat
and sat
and sat
until an ideacame to me.
Sand.
I could dig!
I could dig for seashells.

Idug,
and dug,
and dug
until I felt something.
Seashell.
(So Ithought).

I grabbed it
and as I pulled it up
I startedscreaming.
My finger hurt
I didn't know why,
but it hurt.
I pulled itup out of the hole,
and there was a huge white crab
hanging on myfinger!
I screamed ever harder,
and shook it off.
I ran down the beachfor my dad.
I found him
on a part of the beach
where you could notwalk
without stepping on a seashell.