'Considering the snail'

It's been wet for the past 24 hours and all that's out and about are snails - they're lovin' it!

A snail is a snail is a snail... but also an excuse for a poem. It's by Thom Gunn (1924-2004)

The snail pushes through a green
night, for the grass is heavy
with water and meets over
the bright path he makes, where rain
has darkened the earth’s dark. He
moves in a wood of desire,

pale antlers barely stirring
as he hunts. I cannot tell
what power is at work, drenched there
with purpose, knowing nothing.
What is a snail’s fury? All
I think is that if later

I parted the blades above
the tunnel and saw the thin
trail of broken white across
litter, I would never have
imagined the slow passion
to that deliberate progress.