I took old snail upon a trip,
upon the live-long sea,
old snail she is so silent,
more silent, still, than me.

We wander forward on the tides,
and scurry back in time,
but all upon a Tuesday- drear
old snail she speaks in rhyme.

With metaphors a-plenty,
right on the cusp of nine
old snail becomes ye old March Hare
and leaves us all behind.

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