time's essential oil

The race is done before it’s begun,
Won unexpectedly:
The snail and its slime did record time
Moving imperceptibly.

The others don’t heed in their quest for speed,
The Earth: its furrows and glens,
Rivers and reeds, and cattle stampedes
Are lost for some tape at the end.

Between blinding conceit of the swiftest feet
And pause for the earthy show,
At the end of the day speed may have its way
But the snail’s pace is my way to go.

Leave the rats to their race and grant me the grace
Of a long, languid, luxurious pace.