On the red tiled porch snails congregate
We’ve had so much rain, they nearly float
They do not purr like cats do when they’re pleased
Do they even try to sing or talk?
No one wrote an opera for such beasts
They might wait for Godot without speech
They could not hope that we would cuddle them.
They won’t come to Blackpool for the beach.
What do snails do to pass the long hours best?
Spend an hour with them inside the hedge.
But do not warm one in your woollen vest
I’d rather worship one on this red ledge
The shell of snail of cockle of a crab
The artistry is there, but snails don’t brag
How my heart sings 