[Fingerstyle Lute] [Verse 1] Come close, good folk, and lend your ears— a tale I’ll tell full quick, Of a tortoise with a wagging tongue that brought him to a trick. Now mark this tune and keep it close, for in its woven truth, You’ll find that silence shields a man— in age as well as youth! [Verse 2] This tortoise dwelt beside a pond that baked beneath the heat, While birds took wing to fresher springs, he had but stubborn feet. “Alas!” he cried to passing swans, “I’m stranded in this place! My wisdom’s vast, my mind profound— but I can’t match your pace!” [Verse 3] The swans took pity on his plight and hatched a clever plan: “We’ll carry you between us, friend, across the dusty land. We’ll hold a stick between our beaks, you bite the center tight— But mark our words: speak NOT a sound from ground to landing site!” [Verse 4] The tortoise nodded gratefully and clamped the branch with care, “I’ll hold my tongue,” he promised them, “and thank you for this fare!” Then up they soared into the blue, three shadows climbing high, The tortoise dangling silently across the open sky. [Verse 5] But village folk below looked up and jeered the flying sight: “A halfwit beast! A dullard brute! He can’t be all that bright!” Their laughter drifted to his ears and stoked his swelling pride— “What fools!” he thought. “I’ll show them all!” He opened wide—and cried— [Verse 6] —but lost his grip upon the stick and plummeted below, A tumbling shell of wounded pride that learned a rueful woe. Some say he lived, cracked head to tail, some say he died outright— But all agree his wagging tongue betrayed him in his flight. [Verse 7] So when you feel your temper rise, or words to set aright, Recall the tortoise who forgot his vow upon that flight. For once a shouted thought takes wing, You cannot take it back— And oft the quiet, measured breath will keep credibility intact. [Final Verse] And if you’ve found a grain of sense within this ancient lore, A copper coin to warm my cup would please me to the core. For minstrels live by tales and tunes we trade for ale and pay— And unlike him, I know the time to hold my tongue… at bay. [Spoken, with a grin] Besides—had I kept silence too, you’d have no tale today. Now then, who’ll buy a thirsty bard his ale? For I've got time to tell another tale.
