The Slug and the Rose by David Thane Cornell

Oh how I praise the hour
When I was born a snail,
Beneath a crimson flower
Beside a garden pail.

At first she didn’t notice me
As I moved so slow,
But with my pointed thinking cap
We thought up a show.

And what an audience I won
On a summer morn,
When she awoke, applauding me,
Sailing on a thorn!