I helped a turtle cross the road today.

Black shell, tiny clawed feet,
yellow strip on either side of its head,
negligent in his actions, I intervened.

but I couldn't help the dying man beat
his cancer,

the turtle, impervious to the danger all
around,
trodding valiantly across his desert,
taking my hand, as we dared the world to try and
conquer us,

but I couldn't prevent the war from
murdering the innocent,

Resolute, purposeful, how we moved
to safety, defying the oncoming cars and
preserving one more day, at least we hoped,

yet I couldn't give the abused child a promise
tomorrow would be just fine,

and I released that turtle into his fortress of high grass and marsh,
he nodded,
and disappeared into the overgrowth,

what would become of that bold soul?
and would he remember me?
what would become of the world?
and would the turtle tell his tales of
encountering the sick one so long ago?

he knew something I didn’t,
and that was he couldn't save the world,
he could only paddle on and hold strong to the belief
there was always a
helping hand
ready to reach out
at just
the right moment.