There would be tears. There would be tantrums. It would seem the world had ended. It was gone. The turtle toy had been left behind. At the beach. The little turtle lay on the path, waiting to be scooped up and played with. He was at the breach. He was home.
" Something's gotten hold of my hand Dragging my soul to a beautiful land Something has invaded my mind Painting my sleep with a colour so bright Changing the grey and changing the blue Scarlet for me and scarlet for you" // ("Something's gotten hold of my heart", Roger Cook, Roger Greenaway)