There are many sounds that set your teeth
That make you squirm or give you grief,
That raise the hairs upon your neck
Or make you jump or even sick.
Like the scratch, of nails on glass or slate
Or the long slow, drag of a fire grate,
Like the creek of the floor in a darkened room
Or when alone there’s a sudden BOOM!
Like the hiss of a snake lying near your foot
Or the splat on your head of rotting fruit
Like air escaping from a deflating tyre
Or the plop of a boot stuck deep in the mire.
But the sound you wish you never would hear,
That sickens and thickens your heart with fear,
A sound that turns even a mounty pale
Is the sound under foot of the crunch of a snail!
When the sun is set and air quite chill,
Curtains drawn, abodes dead still,
Out from cleft and hiding place,
Glide those molluscs at mollusc pace,
An army marching with savage powers.
Seeking juicy plants and flowers,
Munching and chewing till all is gone
Supping till all the carnage is done.
But then when full obese and fat,
Promenade the patio, sit and chat
Until returning late from work
The householder with a company perk.
Worn and tired so glad to arrive
He steps from car into the drive
Steps into the gathered throng
his mentality and emotional stability
in mind piercing agony
in an instant is totally, and utterly - GONE!