The little snail crawled slowly away.
He cannot be rushed come what may.
He does not know where he is going or whatever for
And slowly but surely he reaches the door.
What will he find on the other side?
He is out in the open, he cannot hide.
Eventually he discovers a cosy warm spot
There he goes to sleep which he does a lot.
It is tiring being a snail, life is slow
But he enjoys himself and always finds places to go.