Lori the Loggerhead
Lori the Loggerhead
Lori wears a carapace, ancient and strong,
Etched with tales of shipwrecks and seafaring songs.
Her flippers, like oars, propel her forth,
Guided by the moon and stars of the North.
Lori knows the coastline’s magnetic embrace,
Following an invisible thread, across a vast ocean space.
She returns to the same sandy shore, where memories reside,
To lay eggs—a legacy woven in the sand and tide.
Four clutches they lay, each a sacred trove,
Over one hundred eggs—their legacy wove.
Tiny treasures, nestled in lunar grace,
Awaiting dawn’s kiss, and life’s tender embrace.
But here’s a twist, nature’s whimsical play,
In sands’ hidden warmth, futures do sway.
While cooler nests favor the brother’s chance,
Warm nests yield more sisters, a mystical dance.
And so, Lori dances—a celestial strand,
The gender reveal orchestrated by Nature’s hand.
Lori, the moon’s confidante, whispers her delight,
As loggerhead hatchlings emerge into the starlight.
And as they break free, their flippers unfurl,
They carry her wisdom—a cosmic pearl.
For in their tiny hearts, the circle is complete,
From moonlit sands to the open seas’ heartbeat.
mark
9/21/2024
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