They neither slither slide nor sneak
but have this habit they seem to keep,
back into all generations deep
this persistence they have to creep.
It's a trait in their DNA, makes me weep.
Through web weft and warp, bias will seep
you'd think they'd sometimes leap or sleep;
won't shed old habits they tend to keep
and adhere to their incessant need to creep.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem