There once was an oyster whose story I tell,

   Who found that sand had got under his shell;

Just one little grain, but it gave him much pain,

   For oysters have feelings although they’re so plain.

Now, did he berate the working of Fate

   Which had led him to such a deplorable state?

Did he curse out the government, call for an election?

   No; as he lay on the shelf he said to himself,

“If I cannot remove it, I’ll try to improve it.”

So the years rolled by as the years always do,

   And he came to his ultimate destiny—stew.

And this small grain of sand which had bothered him so,

   Was a beautiful pearl, all richly aglow.

Now this tale has a moral—for isn’t it grand

   What an oyster can do with a morsel of sand;

What couldn’t we do if we’d only begin

   With all of the things that get under our skin.

Betty Shaw