The flow was uniform
an followed paths within the woods
Slime oozing along the trail
where snails have left their messages
'I was here', they seem to say
Slowly going on my way
leaving slime at my own pace
and ugly thing, with ugly face
Carrying its home upon its back
Wish I could do that
I would wander for years
But hopefully not heading back
or leaving my own slimey track
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem