The warming morning sun

Felt wonderful on my skin

The morning air is fresh

I hesitate to go in

I see a little creature

His shell is dull and grey

He leaves a slimy trail

As he slowly makes his way

Across the warming concrete

Heading toward my blooms

I marvel at his progress

Then the realization looms

In front of my tranquil moment

My garden is under attack

I smirk at the slimy bugger

“Don’t worry I’ll be right back.”

The cylinder canister feels heavy

As I liberally began to shake

The dull grey shell lies empty

With slime lying in it’s wake.


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