Prawn

Ode to the Prawn

In silken shells of blushing pink,
They drift where tide and current meet,
A quiet ballet 'neath the sea‑foam brink,
Where sunlight twirls in liquid sheet.

Their antennae flick like whispered thoughts,
Each flick a promise of the deep,
While curious gulls in coastal lots
Pause, then sigh, their vigil keep.

When nets are cast at dawning’s hush,
And fishermen haul their silvery prize,
The prawns surrender, soft and plush,
A taste of ocean, bright and wise.

So let us toast this humble crustacean—
Not merely snack, but sea‑borne grace—
With lemon zest and buttery feasting,
A British bite, time‑honoured space.