They're the strangest little creatures:
First, as you can no doubt tell,
They carry on their back their shell,
From which emerges a long “foot”
To help the snail in its pursuits.
Then, each self-respecting snail
Creates its very own slipp'ry trail
On which he slides along with ease
Not worrying about debris.
And each snail happens to be born
With flexible and long odd horns
That serve their purpose very well:
They're used to see, and feel, and smell,
And each separately acts -
As you touch one, it retracts.
There's more: in an arrangement most complex,
It's said that snails can change their sex!
And I wonder, if, per chance,
It is determined in advance:
If, each morning, he (or she)
Decides a “he” or “she” to be?
Or, if as they meet in the grove,
And when they madly fall in love,
As they exchange “sweet nothings” tender,
It's then they decide on their gender?
It seems a scheme that's doomed to fail,
But it appears to suit the snail...