Day 12 - Dead White Turtles

[This one probably needs a little explanation.  When I am stressed, I write Vogon Poetry, that is intentionally bad poetry. The reference is Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy if you’re flummoxed.
This was at a time of great stress at work. My desktop was covered with large stacks of white paper. You couldn't see the desktop for the paper. After one particularly grueling 40 day (And I do mean day, not week), I had this dream (nightmare?) about dead white turtles. Hence, the poem.
Oh, yeah. I composed the lyrics trying to outdo the noise of bathtub filling up, the air conditioner humming and three cats providing syncopated rhythm by asynchronous purring. In my head, I hear a 'ba-dum. ba-dum' at the end of each line.]

Good little turtles,
They do what they're told.
They stay in their box.
They never grow old.
Bad little turtles,
They want to be free.
They dream of escape.
They long for the sea.
I'm a good little turtle.
I do as I'm told
If I stay in my box,
I won't ever grow old.
I'm a good little turtle.
I'll never be free.
And I only escape
When flushed out to sea.
I'm a dead white turtle.
I never grew old.
I stayed in my box.
Did as I was told.
I'm a dead white turtle
Floating in the sea,
Doing the dead man float.
Won't you be me?

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