A Twist

A hare hops happily across the trees
and spots a turtle enjoying the breeze.

Good morning to you, the turtle greets.
Good morning to you, the hare repeats.

Shall we begin? the turtle asks.
The hare is sipping from his flask.

Why yes indeed-y, he answers him.
And so begins the tale quite grim.

Clouds hide the yellow sun from them,
and thunder booms like a loud ahem.

The hare emboldened by his drink
fears nothing and to the turtle winks.

The turtle, on the other hand,
takes seriously the weather, and

in reply to the winking eye,
says, I greatly worry about the sky.

The hare, impatient, starts to hop,
a starter gun--thunder--noisily pops.

The turtle soon follows, behind a pace.
And this is the way they start the race.

The finish line is so close, so nigh.
The hare: I’ll win; I’ll fly right by!

And fly right by he does that day,
as winds pick up and carry him away.

Inhaling through his smelly bum,
the turtle propels himself aplomb.

He knows he’ll win this race for sure!
His breathing beats the hare’s liqueur.

The sky has swallowed up the hare.
The turtle wins and breathes fresh air.

If not for his inhaling butt,
he might have landed in a rut.

So slow and steady wins the race
is not the moral in this case;

instead if there’s a storm to come,
don’t race with turtles with special bums.