Ode to the Dead Turtle

Shelly, Shelly, Shelly boy,
What good did it do for you?
All that’s left of perseverance,
Is tire tracks and rotting goo.

"Slow and steady wins the race, boy.
Keep on trying," is what they said.
You listened and you followed blindly,
Where’d it get you? Now you’re dead.

Thickest shell to keep the world out,
Worked like crazy, teeth were gnashed,
But in the end you’re like the possum,
Both of you are dead and mashed.

He stumbled blindly ‘cross the pavement,
Clueless what hit him, clueless how
He died, but why does it really matter?
Both of you are roadkill now.

You had a goal, determination,
That you might cross and beat the hare,
Your dripping, splattered carcass tells us,
You’re not winning...

...but all is fair!
The rabbit, who was racing faster,
Crossed the road a while back,
Dodged a truck, and darn the luck,
Died of fear and heart attack.

It's a happy ending! Really!
Robo-Mutt, the Unwashed Robotic Animal Repairman, inpired while brushing his teeth to remember a certain chapter from _The_Grapes_of_Wrath_ and write a poem about it.

Ode to the Dead Turtle

Shelly, Shelly, Shelly boy,
What good did it do for you?
All that’s left of perseverance,
Is tire tracks and rotting goo.

"Slow and steady wins the race, boy.
Keep on trying," is what they said.
You listened and you followed blindly,
Where’d it get you? Now you’re dead.

Thickest shell to keep the world out,
Worked like crazy, teeth were gnashed,
But in the end you’re like the possum,
Both of you are dead and mashed.

He stumbled blindly ‘cross the pavement,
Clueless what hit him, clueless how
He died, but why does it really matter?
Both of you are roadkill now.

You had a goal, determination,
That you might cross and beat the hare,
Your dripping, splattered carcass tells us,
You’re not winning...

...but all is fair!
The rabbit, who was racing faster,
Crossed the road a while back,
Dodged a truck, and darn the luck,
Died of fear and heart attack.

It's a happy ending! Really!
Robo-Mutt, the Unwashed Robotic Animal Repairman, inpired while brushing his teeth to remember a certain chapter from _The_Grapes_of_Wrath_ and write a poem about it.

Ode to the Abandoned Quarter

Out in the parking lot I saw him,
Laying face down in the rain.
Such a waste- he was born in 1973
Who did this to you, George?
Why did they leave you here, cold and alone and forgotten?

I will take you in for now, but later I will use you.
I don't mind your tails-up curse, because I will spend you.
I can't see your dented face, because I will horde you.
I can't care for you, but I will take you in for now.

So, George, relish in this sanctuary I now give you;
A false sense of security is security nonetheless.