It takes me a week to answer the door,
A day and a half to cross the floor,
If only I weren’t so terrible slow,
I’d get there quicker, don’t you know?
It takes me a month to go to bed,
Crawl upstairs to rest my head,
And if I go to post my mail,
It takes a year, ‘cos I’m a snail.
Sometimes I wish I was a whale,
Instead of just a slow old snail,
But that will surely never be,
So I had better get used to being me.