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Scything Shells
Flippers so languidly beat
As mates float in the deep
Coupling dreamily on a lazy tide
And when it is time
She shall lie
Upon a secret hollow
Known only to her
And the King of tides
To pledge her young before a setting sun
And when it is time
They will rise from a sandy womb
To begin their panic in search of the sea
Sculling and skittling they
Inch their shells
Scything sand at terror
From swooping gulls
And cranky crabs
To giant hands that hold no pity
Yet those that nose
The frothy sea first
Begin a quest that will ultimately test
These gentle souls
To the brink of damnation
Upon oceans deep
And yet we weep
And yet we weep…
Poetry Contest “Turtles”
Sponsored by Cyndi MacMillan
Aug 2014
Copyright ©
Mark Trichet
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