by Bridh Hancock
Can snails die of too-long-life?,
Of too much travel and fun?
Have they a self-destruction gene?,
And might it be overcome?
Imagine an Every-Snail’s You-Beaut-Land,
With lots of food all fresh and green,
Where every snail would soon grow sharp,
And fleet of foot, and mean;
Where shells would be both smart and hard,
Affording real protection,
Where any bait a snail might take
Would prove a sweet confection.
How long or soon before a snail,
Though small its crustacean brain,
Would seek to escape its silver trail,
Nor there return again?
- Submitted in response to Words+Pictures #5