— unpredictable thoughts

Who would be a tur­tle who could help it?
A barely mobile hard roll, a four-oared hel­met,
She can ill afford the chances she must take
In row­ing toward the grasses that she eats.
Her track is grace­less, like drag­ging
A packing-case places, and almost any slope
Defeats her mod­est hopes. Even being prac­ti­cal,
She’s often stuck up to the axle on her way
To some­thing edi­ble. With every­thing opti­mal,
She skirts the ditch which would con­vert
Her shell into a serv­ing dish. She lives
Below luck-level, never imag­in­ing some lot­tery
Will change her load of pot­tery to wings.
Her only lev­ity is patience,
The sport of truly chas­tened things.