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Sleep now, Dear Snail

There once was a snail

in a far away land, 

who sang many a tale

to all manner of man. 


As the snail grew old,

his tales grew stale 

and nary a fly would sit for his fables. 


So he spoke to the dust, 

and the air and the maggots.

At first with a dignity, 

as old snails do,

out of pride for his legacy,

and honour, too.


Till, he started to realise -

there was no one around…

And he was not uttering 

a single sound…


Left speechless, his breath 

lingered ahead;

lost and alone, 

unsure where to go 

it turned back to the snail, waiting to know.


But he couldn’t tell

for how long he’d been silent.


He looked to the dust and the air and the maggots,

to find out from them 

just how long he’d been quiet,

But they stirred not a muscle,

and paid him no mind,

exactly as they’d done 

when he first arrived.


Yet somehow, he was still left surprised. 


For he knew that the dust and the air and the maggots 

cared not for listening

to old snail tales,

but still, he’d assumed 

if there, with nothing else to do, 

they’d at least

hear his tune.


Instead, he was wrong.

Not one thing had listened, or heard, 

or cared for a word. 

Not even himself, 

who hadn’t noticed the silence.


The snail sighed a barely audible sigh, 

and with no story left in his mind,

he closed his eyes,

and blew out the light.


His lifeless body, left to rot and die. 

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