Hark! Is this yellow Ark a place for the morphing shark!: A poem 

I am no desert fox in a quixotic box 

And I am no plainclothesman in his socks 

But I can’t reckon and I can’t conjecture 

if the fish is having its swansong? 

It seems like prehistoric creatures of the deep 

are still living among us, and have our keep 

And they can be both wolf and fox 

And, if they choose, be sheep or horse 

Even the sun is a trifle red or blue 

with what the deep sea makes it do 

So, if you wander to pick up a shell, 

could you believe it just may be hell? 

You may see the little lab rat 

quantumly arrive as the Schrodinger’s cat 

There is too much morphing and making 

in this quantum web of the shark’s taking 

I can imagine your surfboard breaking 

and your bones crunching and flaking 

The last one in the imposing Zodiac 

is trying hard not to get off our backs!