With great anticipation
her family came to town,
and everyone watched anxiously
for a look at their new home.

It was yellow, with big, black shutters
and a yard for them to run.
They could actually see the ocean;
oh, this was going to be fun.

The moving van arrived,
and the unloading soon began.
There were boxes spread all over,
and she had to lend a hand,

but when the day was over
and weary, they retired,
she thought of Purple Turtle
with the great, big yellow eyes.

The next day – still more boxes –
then her siblings made a fort,
and in it they played cheerfully,
and new neighbors joined the sport.

But once the sport was over
and they all went home to eat,
she looked for Purple Turtle
which was really no mean feat.

There were boxes in the hallway.
There were boxes in her room.
In each there was no Purple
and, over all, his absence loomed.

She tried not to be whiny,
but she didn’t know what to do
when the last of the boxes was emptied,
and her dad gave her the news:

“You’ve seen what we have taken
from each box that we’ve gone through.
I’m sorry to tell you honey,” he said.
“He must have been lost in the move.”

To be continued…

© L. Rose (3/27/17)