Sunday, August 31, 2014

The Snail

Now who would dream a lowly snail
Of slovenly grotesquerie
And instincts basely criminal
Could have a family tree?
It seems this oafish-looking gnome
Of trailer-dwelling jelly,
This gourmand who thinks I grow blooms
To brighten up his belly,
Has dyed the robes of emperors,
Fed noblemen and slave;
As currency he purchased girls
Or served intrigue and knave.
A laggard with a single foot
In leisure-loving motion,
He covers climates cold and hot
And swims the mauling ocean.
So when his predatory stroll
Imperils vine and stalk,
Think twice before you crush his shell
Upon your garden walk.


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