In the old days it was the smell that gave them away They couldn’t all hold on some would always fall and rot on the ground The scent is sweeter then you think And it always gives them away Nowadays we just corral them People line up to take their pick There’s no hunt No chase Just fill up a bag take them home chop them up and serve them baked in a buttery crust They will still smell sweet

I wore it today the necklace I made with the dainty chain It shimmers in the sun Like the silver pendent with a coating of resin holding a bleached sliver in place in the center The girls all assumed it was mother of pearl or smuggled ivory A splinter of coral perhaps Who would guess it was really just a small sliver of you