The Little Painted Turtle

It was merely happenstance
As I walked about my home
To note the movement in the grass
Of a creature with a dome.

Cautiously I moved forward
Steady was my pace.
It was hard to see just what it was,
The turf had masked its base.

To my surprise it was a turtle;
Indigenous to Ohio.
Identification revealed colorful markings
According to its bio.

It is known as the painted turtle
And it was headed for the street.
Turn around my little friend,
Move those little feet.

It was determined as ever
to continue on its quest.
But I knew its direction
Should be south and not northwest.

It moved closer to the road
Where cars were speeding by.
I could not let it continue
There was a good chance it would die.

I picked up the painted turtle
Who had traveled, oh, so far,
The lake from whence it came is south,
Not north beneath a car.

I placed it on brown pebbles
At the baseline of our lake
Convinced it now would settle;
A good deed for its own sake.

It was never its intention
To rest upon that shore.
No sooner had I turned around,
It was on the move once more.

Frustrated I stop and take a glance
To see my neighbor smirking.
He approached me with a smile and said
"What you did is just not working."

He told me of her history
"I know she will not rest.
She is compelled to keep on moving -
Two years my yard reserved her nest."

Well, I will carry her across the street
To the soft grasses of that nest,
Then it must be out of my hands
As nature's plan is best.

But, I just can't seem to let it go.
I look for her each day.
She will return to my lake
In early June or May.

Turtles are smarter than you think.
She boasts a colorful mark.
It is quite possible she will cross the street
And make it safely to my park.

There is an instinct within us all.
It seems to be very strong.
By helping her to cross that street,
I pray I was not wrong.