Shell Shock

I had a tortoise
I called him Bert
and Bert was a bit of a flirt
one day he started getting on a roll
with an upturned Pyrex casserole.
He thought "This one's a bit of a dish. Well well¦
I'll put some colour in her unusually pale semi-translucent shell.
But the smile on my particularly lustful reptile soon fell, for
he could find no place on that strange carapace to stick his face
for a kiss. "O miss, he cried "O miss¦ don't play hard to get.
Extend your mottled and scaly reptilian neck for a preliminary peck
and we can make sloooow love.
Alas, no response forthcoming, there came at last a sigh
from my poor rejected Testudinae.
It hurt his pride. He went all sullen and withdrawn.
He pulled his head and legs inside and cried "Denied, denied¦
I could not stand to hear poor Bert cooped up with all that hurt.
I tried some counselling to bring him out of his shell,
but he got more and more unwell, until at last I had to do the
only decent thing left with a tortoise so sad and ailing and bereft.
I went and got a turtle called Myrtle
as horny as hell (or at least, her shell was)
the reptilian equivalent of a tasty bit of skirt.
And Bert made a hurtle for Myrtle.
And Myrtle the turtle, she did the dirt
with Bert.