Dear Abby,
I’m crabby. Never realized my dreams!
I wanted long legs … among other things. Sick of the sand, tired of crawling around, I’ve got my pinchers stuck in the ground.
I’m tired of being wet all of my life; people who catch me who poke with a knife.
Maybe I am a grouch, but I’m lonely. Nobody wants a thing to do with me! I’m about ready to give up trying. No spark in my eyes … slowly I’m dying.
Please, pass on these hints to those can read. Be grateful and share with others in need. You’ll be cherished when you’re not up to speed.
Grouches are welcomed as much as a weed.
Yours,

Crabby