The Turtle

I never wasted any love On turtles, but the turtle-dove Is quite another thing; When I have nothing else to do, I love to hear them bill and coo While mating in the spring.

There’s something in their plaintive note That brings a lump into my throat And makes my pulses stir; Something between a smothered snore And the shrill creaking of a door, That soothes me, as it were.

How strange is Nature’s alchemy, To think that living in the sea Should change a creature so! The turtle of the finny kind That swims the sea, is to my mind The lowest of the low.

And yet, O inconsistency! Although the turtle is to me A most obnoxious beast, When on a menu card I spy “Green Turtle, Soup,” though it comes high, I take two plates at least!