Under the tropical moon

sea turtle slowly, inexorably

leaves her element for the foreign strand

the once graceful wings

are now clumsy flippers

What was sleekly suspended

weightless on the breast of the wave

is now heavy and earthbound

are covered with the suffocating sand

but the ancient song is sung

and the tide can not be ignored

She plows the wet sand

an ancient armored chariot

covered with barnacles

What voice tells her where to nest?

What secret scent led her to this beach, this dune?

The moon rises higher

while the clutch of leathery eggs is laid

She covers the future with sand

and monumentally slow turns again to the sea

The first wave frees her of the clinging sand

and looses again the wings

that will carry her to the deep.
 

- Ken Peters
 
 

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