There is a red brick bridge I cross every day, if I can.
Over the river with its gravel shores, completely devoid of man.
Today as I was strolling by
a small something caught my eye.
I approached this thing with interest,
filled with the curiosity with which I’m blessed.
A turtle shell with rattling bones;
a lonely and abandoned home.
This was the prize that I had found,
resting forlornly on the ground.
A small, bleached white shell
on which my fingers tapped a death knell.
A quiet reminder of a life once had.
To be honest, it made me sad.
“Such is life,” it seemed to say.
So I continued on my way,
to live and laugh and cry and play.
But I thought of turtles the rest of the day.
Mar 29, 2012
Mar 29, 2012 at 11:24 AM UTC
There is a red brick bridge I cross every day, if I can.
Over the river with its gravel shores, completely devoid of man.
Today as I was strolling by
a small something caught my eye.
I approached this thing with interest,
filled with the curiosity with which I’m blessed.
A turtle shell with rattling bones;
a lonely and abandoned home.
This was the prize that I had found,
resting forlornly on the ground.
A small, bleached white shell
on which my fingers tapped a death knell.
A quiet reminder of a life once had.
To be honest, it made me sad.
“Such is life,” it seemed to say.
So I continued on my way,
to live and laugh and cry and play.
But I thought of turtles the rest of the day.
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