The Snail
On reaching the summit of Snowdon, after a two hour trek
I saw something on the trig point post, so I picked it up to check
It was only a little snail, exposed to the wind of the day
Where birds could have snatched him up, and carried the fellow away
I felt sorry for the poor little chap, out in the cold up here
So I shared my salad sandwich and teaspoonful of my beer
Then I placed him in my lunchbox, to find him a safer place
And we set off down the mountain with the wind and rain in my face
I couldn’t speak mollusc, to ask his name, so I called him Brian the snail
And I chatted to him, as I trotted along, down the Llanberis trail
It felt good to do this small service, for a creature less able than me
And when we got to Llanberis I found him a hollow tree
Now there lived in the tree, a family of snails, distantly related it seems
And Brian the snail was telling them how, some monster had shattered his dreams
Brian was inconsolable, and beside himself with dismay
As he told his life story, and related to them, the events that befell him that day
I have climbed that mountain all my life, as my father and grandfather tried
23 generations of snails before me, climbing that mountain have died
I was two feet away from the trig point, I was less than an hour away
Then some bloke snatched me off the post, and locked me in a plastic tray
I shouted as loud as I could, but I think he was deaf as a pole
And he carried me all the way down here, and stuck me in this bloody hole