His powerful jaws he clamps down,
Their prey they roll until they drown,
Eating some they keep the rest,
Until a time that they think best.
They tear their food,
It’s never chewed.
Or if it’s small
He swallows all.
Stones are swallowed to help digest,
Their food once they do go to rest.
Crocodile tears do really flow,
When they eat their food you know.
Not because they really care,
But have swallowed too much air.
He bites down hard but you can hold
His mouth closed if you are so bold.
The muscles used to open his jaw
Are rather weak that is for sure.

A mother croc her nest will lay
Then three months, she near, will stay.
They lay their eggs, at least thirty
Some as many up to eighty.
When time to hatch they make a noise,
A mother acts and skills employs.
She digs her babies from the sand,
And takes them from the land.
Using her mouth she carries them,
Like a very precious gem,
Safely to the water free,
It’s here they grow if they’re lucky.

The crocs webbed feet help him to turn
As the water he does churn.
His tail gives him swimming power,
Up to fifteen kilometres per hour.
He is slower when on land,
But still be careful where you stand.
Along the land they can creep,
But from the water also leap.

He lies along the river banks,
Looking like his playing pranks.
Mouth wide open sitting still,
He does this for himself to chill.
He has no sweat glands so they keep
Their mouths wide open when they sleep.

Their body’s up to eighteen feet,
With a rather heavy seat,
They can weigh up to a ton,
Yet they, after you, can run.
They can live for seventy years,
Sometimes longer as one hears.

So when upon this reptile you chance,
Beware of how toward it you advance.
It’s best not to stay too close to the water,
Make your visit in croc prone areas shorter.

Poem by Sourcherry
Photographs from Pixabay and Unsplash