Lucky—even more so having arrived with both intact of emerald hat and satchel galuchat—had found his way to bridge’s end with kettle’s cache ready to be hid, but, then, he pondered, “If, regarding the gold, self continue’s to hold, then I will turn lonely as old. However, if that gold were sold, no return would be equally bold. And, if gold were freely rolled, room rained and bowed would be left in the cold.” So, peering into his pot with a perplexed pout, Lucky finally accepted a date with fate by going the other route: he chose to place neither value nor concern on items laid about, rather cherishing only those entities able to—lifefully, upliftingly, luckily—sprout. ; )

When loggerhead becomes cloggerhead,

When Ridley becomes sickly,

When leatherback is under weather’s whack,

When hawksbill hocks ill,

When flatback turns flat on its back,

When green is both a hue for carapace and sinus,

Troubled turtle, for sake of its shellness wellness, licks a longevity linctus. ; )

Pod of one’s

Echoed chat

Is weak,

Like a

Ratty

Batsqueak,

Sending

Only waves

That bounce back

As goodbyes. ; )

Toucan, lay that blame of ultraism partly on unconsolidated bills, for sure. ; )

Coast’s ‘keys relay pyows

As ‘cano gurgles flams.

In goes the pink princess

For a simian scan,

Soaring

Above

Where roaring

Behaves

Due to feared aves

Thought to have hatched

From isle’s cantankerous caves. ; )