Turtle Love Sings: A Poem

Turtle Love Sings

Turtle Love sings to me.
The sweet sting of a
long time gaze drifting
over a few feet or,
three thousand two hundred and four, point four, miles
of corn fields and hills, which
enviously give way to their beastly
snow capped cousins.

Turtle Love sings to me
of her on that distant shore,
more wild that this one,
drawn sharp, less wise,
more child.

Maybe she grazes on a distant memory,
but knowing the consequence,
as the sun now knows the consequence of her dress.
Sun dress,
white flowers, blue,
who can forget blue?

There she evolves, under the ancient light
of a noble star, true friend to man.
There she becomes,
and the sun now knows
what we have always known.

Turtle Love back in its shell.
Her grace should not be smeared
by man's fingernails,
and thus, this three thousand two hundred and four miles.
Point four for the memory,
which we will never transverse.