She struggles up the steep and sandy beach,
Her flippers ill-adapted to the task,
But has to find a spot beyond the reach
Of tides, and dig a sand-filled pit to mask
Her eggs. Itís done. Her young must take their chances.
Returning to her own aquatic scene,
She glides and soars, she pirouettes and dances
As though her long ordeal had never been.
The weeks go by. At last, there comes a day
When life begins to stir beneath the sand.
A few small heads appear, bemused and grey,
Then more and more, a vast chelonian band.
The tiny turtles scamper down the beach
Towards the ocean, and their destiny -
But crabs are hungry, sea-birds swoop and screech,
And very few will live to see the sea.
If you have any comments on this poem, Brian Allgar would be
pleased to hear from you.