The Snail

This morning, when I woke up there was, inexplicably, a snail in the middle of the room. So I wrote him a poem.

The Snail

When I woke up today, I saw on the floor,
Right in the middle, a motionless snail.
Had he climbed through the window, crawled under the door?
I examined the carpet for signs of a trail.
He seemed to have come with no tracks to that place.
The door filled the doorway, the windows were closed.
Perhaps he had fallen from dark outer space,
But with ceiling intact, quite a mystery was posed.
I checked but the walls were all quite free of holes
I looked under the bed and found it was clean
There was no trace of slime on my heels or my soles
And as I checked everything, he just sat there, serene.
I never did find how he entered my room
Or why he should come in the dead of the night
But I took him and put him outside. I assume,
That he won’t come again, though I guess that he might.