Thursday, 18 June 2015

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.


  1. Great one Jessica! This reminds me of the times we would collect snails in Granny's garden. And how we would watch them on the veranda for ages and feed them the how Granny would tip boiling water all over them to kill them... Snail bubbles and goo....

  2. Spot on Clare! That was exactly where I got that Inspiration from! Now I want to use the word 'nostalgia' but I can't work out how.

  3. Thank you for calling the snail bob, Jess