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!