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’…