The Snail

Sitting in my garden

I watch the indefatigable snail 

As it inches its way

Along the fence,

Its feelers straining forward

Touching the surface

With the softest kiss

And now another

And another.

It reaches for the next panel,

Its body absorbed in the effort,

The sunlight glinting off its shell

And the silvery trail

Left in its wake. 

The snail does not lament 

Its short lifespan

Does not question its meaning

Does not overthink its task,

It simply searches 

And leaves a shimmering doodle

To show where it has been,

A beauty spot

On the face of the universe.

As the sun goes down

I look up

And the snail has gone,

Slipped away unnoticed,

Nothing but silver lace

Shows it was ever here. 

It has left its mark

Like graffiti carved into the night

Silent and anonymous.

My fingers trace the trail

Like jewellery around the neck

As I farewell one lone snail

And treasure the beauty. 

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