The Snail
The little snail made his way across the walk
Proudly carrying his brown house upon his back
I stopped to watch him so slowly inch along
Cringing at the sticky goo that marked his track
I admit I smiled, thought him cute in his own way
As he finally made his way into the flower garden
Wondering if he even had a thought or two at all
Or just ate my plants without my grudging pardon
Copyright © Barbara Gorelick | Year Posted 2014
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