Primordial creature unhurried through the aeons, contained in your carapace, who sups and tups and inspires great poets; whose ways are watched and observed; who is. Common or garden no longer; cruelty rendered you rare. Who will show us now longevity; the timeless wisdom of being; contentment with little? Our speeding world deserves you not, sees you none. Our race of becoming, unceasing, miscontent. We sup and tup and concrete our world and lose our joy. We seek long for what is lost; we are torn asunder; calling across the deeps.