How Different Are We, Mr. Octopus and Me? ?

Reaching down then suckers stick.

His crumpled, red skin was swaying.

His wise old eyes stare at me,

I think I can see his soul.

I look at my hand,

Four long arms are grasping it and pulling it closer,

Other four arms hovering just above the tank's floor look magical.

Have to go, have to go. It echoes all around me.

Sadly, I pull away so I am not to be left.

As I walk away I look at him one last time.

His eyes meet my hazelnut, turquoise eyes.

How different are we?

His black, striped, honey eyes slip away.

How different are we?

Why are we killing those wise black, striped, honey eyes?

How different are we,

Mr. Octopus and me?


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