Shells - Apologies to Joyce Kilmer 1886-1918

I think that I shall never smell
A stink as rotten as a shell.

A shell whose occupant has died
And left its softer parts inside.

A shell that crawled away to die
is very near and very high.

In the car it rolled and sweated
Until its pong became quite fetid.

A shell that gives off such a stench
Can make the toughest of us blench.

Whatever made that lovely shell
The devil must have made the smell.