I don't understand
Why some creatures on land
Get such of a thrill
From making a kill
Using poison or venom or fangs, or their teeth,
Or dig worms from the earth, or catch fish from beneath.
I don't hunt like a shark,
Or fly up like a lark,
Or eat spiky dry ants
Like an aardvark
Does.
I don't follow the fashion
The passing fads, like the passion
That some animals have
To get the latest mod-cons
Like legs,
Or lungs,
Or eyes,
Or gills, and other modern frills.
I'm not exactly up-to-date
In learning how to find a mate
Or joining in the latest frenetical
Idea of being elongated and symmetrical.
I feel no need to move, explore, to walk or creep
Up on the shore, or further deep;
I much prefer to sit quite still:
All I do is sift and filter
To get my food, I won't stab or lunge,
After all, I'm just a sponge.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem