The Snail Tale
The snail crawled slowly
Across the dusty track
His home and his belongings
Strapped upon his back.
‘Moving house… A drag’ He muttered
As he cluttered down the trail
‘Life can be hard
When you are a lowly snail,
You can never make a home
Or get to know your neighbour
And carrying a house
Is harder than slave labour
And those wretched feathered creatures
Who peck upon my shell
Never call attention
By ringing the doorbell
But the biggest nuisance of them all
When being tiny, oh so small
Is the crushing boot of a giant beast,
That makes so many snails deceased
A million snails have died this way
So I’m moving house, I cannot stay
I have left my neighbours,
To avoid the crush,
But I am moving slowly
As snails… Never rush’…
Back