Runt-Giant African Snail
Whatever brings you my fault,
Is a blemish and deceitful lips' salt.
Whatever sings me your joy,
Is a flimsy and brighten sight toy.
In the cool green pasture,
Is your rough niche so obscure.
Searchers flash in spite of snakes,
Blunt faces hunting clouded leaves at stakes.
Stage your breaths away from the shell-
How happy you would be in the pot!
Put off your day in hope of woody hell-
How sweet the tasty soup so hot!
See how helpless you are when picked,
What are useless horny eyes you have got on head!
Watch how easy you are turf out perfect,
What an awesome slicked body watershed!
Here and there, pieces of all raw ingest
Infections after consumption got to digest
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