The Clam

My family used to say that I was happy as a clam,

I never understood it- I thought it was a sham;

For clams tend to get lost within the vastness of the sand,

Slipping deep into the ocean from the center of my hand.

Clams are common prey, making it harder for survival,

And thus, they must succumb to the horrors of their rival.

Since clams don’t have a backbone does that mean they aren’t brave?

Do they sit in silent fearfulness from birth until their grave?

I still am forced to wonder what makes a clam so happy,

When suddenly it hits me- though I don’t me to be sappy;

Beneath the dull, gray outside of the sea creature’s soft shell,

Is a shimmering, shiny object that we all know very well.

The pearl resting within makes it easy to see,

Clams may have their faults, but within is beauty.

Still I like to think that I’m no clam- I’m just me.