The Snail

I praise the solemn snail
For when he walks abroad
He drags a slow and glistening trail
Behind him on the road.

Clock ticks for him in vain;
Tick tick tick — will he run?
He hankers not to share men's pain
Of losing to the sun.

Snail keeps a steady pace,
Therefore I honour snail;
For if none saw him win a race
None ever saw him fail.

You say, But in the end
He fills a thrush's throat.
A life, how could one better spend
Than for a song's top-note?

Flesh, sinew, blood and bone,
All that of me is strong,
Blithely would I bury in one
Short-lived immortal song.
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