Reconsider the gait of the snail
Stalely trailing along the ground
Its ilk, oft-maligned creatures
Such is the lot of a gastropod
Oddly plodding its way around
Without any limb-like features
And what more – saddled with a shell
On belly gel does it drudgingly glide
It neither romps nor frolics
Instead leaving the wake of its slime
Its timing stymied by the frame it’s supplied
So perseveres the staid mollusk
Surpassed by its cousin the slug
Who smugly chugged as it vainly gloated
Deriding the snail as molasses-y slow
“What you lack is ferocity
Your velocity lost steam as you locomoted
Your only potential is escargot”
But refrain from discounting this breed
Its speed impeded by a dearth of feet
Constrained to travel via gut
Imagine yourself in its place
Embracing a pace not so fleet
How swift a prone beeline could you cut?
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