Ah, this family Testudinidae, the bane of my existence,
Who keep the challenge at my heels, despite my clear resistance.
That old terrestrial race I ran (with its seriously skewed reportage)
Has been followed by a thousand dares aimed to find me always shortage.
So now the whistle blows again, my opponent a large green turtle
Who grins and calls me sissy-pants as through the sea he hurtles.
Is it fair to toss to ocean waves an Easter bunny doppelganger?
I’d fare less well in this damp place than the average paperhanger.
How’s about we change the racecourse to a big old iron pot?
Toss in onions, one terrapin, salt and pepper, make it hot,
Take a leisurely vote to see just who turned who into a nincompoop--
I’ll win, ‘cause most folks hate to find a hare in their turtle soup.
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