Seven Small Snug Snails

The air knows autumn's closing in,
Clouds crowd, the breeze has a nip.
Snails snuggle close -- safety in numbers;
Their plantpot won't go to the tip.
It's not that I'm that sentimental
Over seven small snails in a pot,
But I have to think of the thrushes --
They're the only food they've got!

poem © Celia Warren 2014