Time for poetry. Here's one I wrote a few years back. It still needs some work, but a poem is never finished, as they say, just abandoned.
Tortoise or Hare
If I could choose.
Tender parts
Carefully guarded
By a hard green shell.
A portable hiding place
For those awkward moments.
No need to run,
Just pull in the appendages
And breathe slowly
Until the danger passes.
But some pernicious muse
Had other plans
And without consulting me,
Took my secrets
And made iambic feet
For a bunch of mad rabbits
That care nothing for poetry.
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