SNAIL PACE
There isn’t a soul to be seen in the silent street
This early in the morning.
Until the night cat stalks down the pavement,
Light from the street lamps doing its best
To show up the green fringe of grass and weeds
Revelling in that bit of empty space
Around the bottom of the fencing.
Where it looks as if the local snails
Had a bit of a hoe-down dancing.
Leaving silver trails criss-crossing the concrete.
A tiny shine here, a little glitter there,
All gone by morning.
Unless the cat treads its paws wherever he wants to.
Padding away the last of the silver festivities with him.
But why should he care?
When no-one ever thought to ask him to join in.
©2020 GWEN GRANT
Poems by Gwen Grant 