He walks the world slow and sure
His home he carries cradle to grave
Each uneventful day a lengthy trip
Sojourning for prime vegetation
Hoping to find some soft spot
Plentiful and perfect to rest easy
His perception always the same
A view that changes ever so slowly
Burrowing below to escape the day
Yet the most mundane of routines
It is a snare for an unwary poke
In a world unbalanced and unfair
Lack-lustre ways are but a joke
For an instant is in upheaval
When claws away the air frantic
And a shell rocks without security
The inversion is a visual anomaly
That is but a foreshadowing drastic
Of the doom of its denizen
If it cannot escape its predicament
Then fate will dictate a demise
That no foothold could bring respite
And salvation to a tortoise alone
But all was good once, how so
For some swim in the ocean's tide
Others a burrow in the earth to hide
But all must dig the softened ground
To deposit it eggs in mother's mound
For she too walks a world slow and sure
Her home she carries cradle to grave