Conchology, Entomology...

She has never been one
For collecting much of anything
Save for cataloging sighs
And the occasional sunbeam
That gets caught up in her hair
And decides its not such
A bad place to stay

Prefering canvass and brush
Or pen and pad
To chloroform and specimen jars
To numbered tags and stick pins
Stuck through never again moving limbs
Or never again flapping wings

So she'll capture her find
In a method that suits her
Then toss him back into the surf
To live free once more
But she certainly wouldn't lament
If he found his way back
to her stretch of sandy beach
During the next low tide.