The Little Marsh King

Written by: Monty Newman

 I sit in my car on an old bridge painted white.
the stream passes under as I wait for the light 

an old turtle suns itself on a rock near the bank	
this turtle is my touchstone if I may be so frank

when ever I cross this bridge he is always there
looking stoic unencumbered and without a care

as ducks circle the thrown of this little marsh king
the stream flows the day wanes he wants not a thing

he hardly moves at all  with his nose high in the air
there’s a smile on that face with the know it all stare

on occasion as I happen to be waiting for the light
I turn to find him looking right at me what a sight

what a strange feeling it’s like he’s in my head
telling me to take care ease up  or I’ll drop dead

I realize that life has a rhythm but we set the pace
life is for living and it doesn’t have to be a race