Though you've a sturdy carapace, you run some risk
Of being turned to soup, my precious turtle dove.
The half-assed Cassonovas here see you and drool.
They hone their knives and dream of feasting on
Your flesh. It may be best if you abandon your
Expensive "take me" clothes and burrow down into
The mud, and wait. Someday, someone of substance
May arrive. They'll search the murk, and, once they've
Reached you, they will elevate you, gently prise you
From your carapace, and treat you less as toothsome 
Treat than one worthy of love.