There are times I want

To pull tight into myself

Like a small garden snail

Knowing the ground before me

Is covered in salt

Which will suck me dry

If I am not careful


The gardener watches

He does not like me

He will crush my shell if he can

Ripping it open

With his hoe.


But in the forest

Among the damp leaves

And the tall trees

I can simply glide along

Leaving my shell behind.

What a world there is

Waiting to be explored.






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