A snail with an itch, so slow and so sly,
Creeping and crawling, with a glance up to the sky.
Through leaves and through bushes, so green and so lush,
In search of a scratch, to ease its little hush.
With tentacles twitching, and shell ever tight,
The snail moves through gardens, with all of its might,
With a spiral home, and a trail that it leaves,
It inches along, with determined beliefs.
The garden is its playground, its kingdom, its home,
With flowers and with shrubs, where it can roam,
With petals and thorns, and a pond too,
A snail with an itch, has much to do.
But watch out, dear snail, for the birds on the prowl,
With beaks sharp and keen, and a hunter's growl,
For though you may inch, and hide in the night,
A bird always finds, what it's hunting for, in spite.
The snail with an itch, may be slow and unseen
But in its own right, it's a master of its own routine.
