The Land Crocodile (Not Quite)

They call me crocodile, a creature of the deep,

Where sunlight filters, secrets fishes keep.

In murky depths I stalk, a silent, fearsome form,

My armored hide a shield against the coming storm.

But water's not my only realm, the land beckons too,

A sun-baked stage where ancient instincts brew.

When morning mist surrenders to the day's embrace,

I haul my heavy form, a lumbering, primal grace.

Upon the shore, the sand a canvas warm and vast,

I sprawl like royalty, a king of sun at last.

My leathery back absorbs the heat, a furnace bright,

Chasing away the chill of endless, moonlit night.

With nostrils flared, I breathe the air, so fresh and dry,

A welcome change from depths where shadows lie.

My reptilian eyes survey the world with ancient ken,

A silent predator, though danger's not my den.

Here, on this sunbaked stage, a different role I play,

The guardian of the nest, where futures find their way.

My mate has built a fortress, strong and safe and deep,

Where precious eggs lie nestled, secrets life will keep.

With tireless vigilance, I stand by day and night,

A silent, watchful sentry, bathed in golden light.

No hungry scavenger, no predator shall dare,

To breach this sacred space, my fierce protection there.

When shadows lengthen, and the sun begins to wane,

I rise, a titan, muscles rippling through the plain.

The cooling earth beneath my claws, a solid hold,

A stark reminder, stories yet untold.

For though the water calls, my home, my lifeblood true,

The land holds secrets too, a purpose I pursue.

A bridge between two worlds, a creature strong and bold,

The land crocodile, a legend to be told.

But wait, a whisper on the wind, a fact I must confess,No true crocodile on land would find such lasting success.We bask, we guard our nests, but water's our domain,Perhaps a distant cousin, whispered through the rain.

The land might hold me captive for a fleeting, sunlit hour,But when the call comes, water holds a deeper power.So let this poem be a tribute, to those who walk and crawl,The monitors, the lizards, who answer land's own call.

For though a true land croc may not exist in fact,The spirit of the wild, on land or water's tract,Reminds us all, of creatures strong and free,

**Masters of their domain, for all the world to see.