Along the shore, seashells gather until the tide takes them back to sea.
One such seashell is called the "Nautilus". This delicate creature began life in a tiny room that it built around itself. As it continued to grow, it built larger rooms that gradually wond their way around and around that first small room.
Early American Poet Oliver Wendell Holmes wrote about this interesting sea creatures in his poem, " The Chambered Nautilus." Eventually, the creature slips from the last chamber, and empty shelll is left behind. The powm infers that, as we grow, we also move forward, becoming a new person; we can't relieve the past.
In today's challenge, create a short lyric poem that gives advice or offers a special insight into life. On your W.A.L.L. begin brainstorming the topic, rhyme scheme, and words you will be weaving together.
If you get stuck on the topic, think of another natural element (the trees in the fall, tiny grains of sand, eagles, earthworms, even mosquitoes). Finally, pull your ideas together to create a first draft.
EXAMPLE:
107. The Chambered Nautilus
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THIS is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign,
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Sails the unshadowed main,—
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The venturous bark that flings
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On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings
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In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings,
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And coral reefs lie bare,
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Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair.
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Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl;
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Wrecked is the ship of pearl!
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And every chambered cell,
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Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell,
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As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell,
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Before thee lies revealed,—
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Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed!
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Year after year beheld the silent toil
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That spread his lustrous coil;
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Still, as the spiral grew,
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He left the past year's dwelling for the new,
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Stole with soft step its shining archway through,
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Built up its idle door,
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Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more.
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Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee,
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Child of the wandering sea,
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Cast from her lap, forlorn!
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From thy dead lips a clearer note is born
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Than ever Triton blew from wreathèd horn!
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While on mine ear it rings,
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Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings:—
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Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,
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As the swift seasons roll!
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Leave thy low-vaulted past!
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Let each new temple, nobler than the last,
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Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast,
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Till thou at length art free,
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Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea!
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