My Shell

For Dad's birthday, I was supposed to write a seashell poem. Here it is.

As I gaze at my interesting shell,

First it is a piece of toast, waiting to be eaten.

Next it is a burrow for a nice family of fluffy rabbits.

Then it is a bird, flying gracefully through the sky.

And now it is an automobile, speeding swiftly through the streets.

Last it is a little girl named Sarah, running home.

And now Iam admiriring my beautiful seashell.