Slug
By Aileen McPherson
Swirling, dancing, hanging by a glistening string
What are you doing? Mating.
Two become one, then hide from the Sun.
Beneath the trees, under the leaves, silver trails pave the way.
Soft bellies slide with ease in the
garden of my dreams.
Safe to live and sleep, safe to play and eat.
Welcome friends come on in
There’s room for all
in my garden
Behind the wall.
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