Spherical Egg Inkwells

My uncle was a gopher tortoise scribe.
A scratching sound and words were frozen stiff.
God would not give a poet turtle eyes,
yet days, some nights, both winters long and swift,
with patience as a plot device He spoke
to Uncs and gave one claw to hold a pen.
My uncle is a sun hat family joke,
too slow to crawl the short way to the den,
a bowl of soup now long ago shat back.
Two claws he had to shovel sand and space.
We hide within and wait for wind or crack.
All clear for gopher tortoise ghosts to race!
One claw to ready whiskey raindrops wept,
he borrowed a hole that angled toward the depths.