Poetry for Clare

 

 

The Snail's Life

 

Time to venture from beneath the rock,

Out to the great unknown.

The door behind me I must lock,

And upon my back, I'll carry my home.

 

Tall trees of waving grass,

Bending, sweeping over me.

My destination I reach at last,

I am filled with new energy.

 

But, O woe, my trail I hate,

Silver, winding 'mongst the green.

They saw it and left some bait,

Horrid Gardeners, they're so mean. 

 

But far worse is the sound of laughter,

And the words,  "Mummy, I'll make Snail Stew!"

I try to escape, but their hands are faster,

Now I am, but snail goo.

 



 

By Jessica Penrose age 13

 

 

 

 

PLEASE NOTE: I am not actually a snail.

 

ALSO NOTE: A friend requested that the valiant snail's name was Bob, so it is.