I am so soft and the world is so hard,
so ready to discard with no regard.
I creep and I crawl that hard yard
but you always want me barred.
You search and you hunt me down.
Is it because I am brown?
You treat me like slime.
Why am I such a crime?
This thought comes to mind:
your world keeps on crushing my kind.
My trail I’ll have to crawl alone
or befriend that weird garden gnome.
Bravely, I smile through my pain
as I attempt to regain
my feelings of worth,
but how will I find this rebirth?
I woefully wonder why, no matter how I try,
the world just passes me by.
I sigh a deep sigh, then I cry
and a tear trickles from my eye.
Gritting and clenching my grief
I try to find some relief
and hold on to a higher belief
in a tree, or a twig, or a leaf;
then I do humbly say, “Lettuce, pray.”
In fear, I let my feelers unfurl;
but again will my feelings be hurt?
“Yikes, don’t touch me!” I blurt,
then I quickly withdraw in my shell:
tucked away, the world to repel.
With resignation I mumble, “Oh, well…”
Life sucks for a young snail in the garden.
Given time, though, my feelings will harden.
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