On nurturing ideas

Hermit

In the tempest something forms

And sheltered by its shell it warms

An idea that weathers all the storms

And the changes of its mind

The naked crab runs down the dunes

Its death or safety decided soon

Either claw or beak will bring its doom

Or else shelter it must find.

Her voice speaks and doesn’t quaver

The hazy vastness does not faze her

She throws herself upon its favour

And it replies to her in kind.

And though she walks the bed alone

Like a hermit crab without a home

She reaches in and makes her own

In the depths of her own mind.

For her the open sea to dare

Beyond no shell for her to wear

Moving on, abandoning her care

For the home she left behind.

-Ewan Green 2012