Monday, April 1, 2013

Mr Turtle

In the deepest lake of a city,
A turtle sits in his chair
The entire night he watches,
Without moving a single hair

Fitted between his fingers,
Is a pen of the deepest blue
To the wandering human eye,
It appears as perfectly new

But the turtle knows much better,
Than an ants curious mind
He treasures this ancient relic,
That took so long to find

For years it sat upon a desk,
Shielding itself from the sun
Stuck inside a pencil case
Not knowing where to run

Til the day he was picked up,
Left on a bench in the park
To find his new home in a pocket,
Shortly after dark

From there he travelled the world,
Asia, France, Australia
Only to be dropped in the sand
And discovered by Aurelia

Two books she wrote with that pen,
Their beginning, middle and end
Until it wrote its final word
Ending a sentence with “send”.

On the way to the publisher,
Aurelia dropped her bag
The pen rolled toward a grate,
And slipped behind a rag

Far down it fell,
Gently floating through a lake
Landing on top of a jelly fish,
It managed not to wake

He shook his head frustratedly,
And the pen fell to the floor
Resting with a little nudge
Against a turtles door 

Sara xx 

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