I Have No Qualms with Snail
(to my friend, who said he preferred not to order my chapbook online)
She glides through the garden
looking for recipients
of letters sent
the old-fashioned way.
I see her now,
wiping sweat from her brow,
hoisting her sack
at the end of the day.
Intrepid she is, our snail.
Remember those gems
of the daily mail?
That hand-written prose,
sacred through the ages?
The beloved’s mark
on ink-swept pages
that lit us, alive.
Escargot and email aside,
I have no qualms with snail.
I accept her glistering tidings,
grateful for her travail.
Lisa Vihos
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2 comments:
This is a cute poem.
I doubt any of us will ever put in a email
what young John Keats put in his letters;
now there is a lost art. :)
A good letter-writer is to be cherished...
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