I saw a snail,
On the garden gate.
Moving so slow,
Oblivious of fate.
He inched along,
And took his time.
Said not a word,
Like some tiny mime.
He stuck out it's head,
And looked around.
And stared wistfully,
At the far off ground.
He knew he'd make it,
Soon enough.
Sure as the clouds,
Float up above.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem