Once I thought, what mind or smile
could ever appreciate such an ill-to-touch
creature as this, and who, if anyone
could have permissioned this between-the-toes
crunchy squelcher of little apparent purpose?
A gastropod so brazen as to sign-post its
every inch of activity with a silver of self, while
making grown men cringe, women scream and
sharing sleepless nights with many a gardener.
Attractive as a freshly squeezed and still
steaming turd (except of course to hedgehogs
and the French) they repulse and disgust
until that is, like me, you wait and watch
while he or she comes out to play and displays
that little Walter Mattau face with horns on.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem