Song of the Snail

And when they came they came with Romans
in boats and crates, like sonnets curled,
but their shells were heavier than omens
and the ships set down, with sighs unfurled.

And when they came they wanted to like it
but they didn’t like the weather or the food,
they couldn’t speak the language or make fit
what they had needed – and the hostile mood.

Now each snail is a shell full of longing,
and each garden a symbol of betrayal
and each sea is a chasm of aching
for a snail that would drown if it tried to sail.

And this is their sorrow, what all snails learn
they’ve their home’s on their back, but can’t return.