Bret Welch

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Best Poem of Bret Welch

Little Ghost Crab

When those large buildings consume the sun,
The moon inches its way up from the ocean depths,
The beach-goers go away,
And take their noise with them,
You eight-legged phantoms of the beach
Come out to play.
You creep every which way,
Frontways, backways,
Leftways, rightways.
Your hunger leads you to
Your unlucky brother,
You cannibal!
Scuttle down to the beach
And quench your thirst.
Now the sun returns, right where the moon just was.
Run, little crab, back to your hole.
Hurry, hide away from the intruders.
Hide away, until nightfall,...

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