Oozing on each slimy toe, with many a mile to go.
And whom should they meet from a small town in Chilé
But a carefree choreographer.
A vapouring prancer, a capering dancer of pirouettes and plié.
Said the snails,
We think it’s quite daunting these moves that you’re flaunting
As we’ve only one foot which is slippery
We prefer to get verbal and guttural and gurgle
And we put all our faith in wordsmithery.
Then the grindlebush windchime struck ten to three
And the snails set the table for afternoon tea.