Mary Annie A. V. writes

The conch shell:

The creature 

that has been wounded 

now lies dead

somewhere trapped

in the labyrinths

of an unnamed world.

The shell

that housed it

litters the sand

where our footsteps fall.

Within my palms

I savour its smoothness

my fingers

caress its emptiness.

From its cave

I hear it bellow

a funeral dirge 

as I raise it to my lips

to bid farewell.
 
Nymph with Conch Shell --William Stephen Coleman