'Battling Cancer'

Curious crabling scuttles ashore
By light of the fresh-risen moon,
A ripe sort of fruit no gull could ignore
Nor ever would find here so soon.

Old mother-gull has taught well her son
To fill the gaping hunger with his jaws,
While mother-crab knows battle’s won
Inside the gap between her claws.

Diving down to claim the fresh meal
The gull gives squawk as if to knell.
What tasty treats would he reveal
While rending open Cancer’s shell?

The turning of tides is a blessing
As crabling is swept out to sea
Leaving the avian guessing
What a fine sort of feast he would be.