There was a little snail sitting on a hill
Gazing at the world below her
Such gratitude she felt
At the beauty she could see
She thought nothing could take her off kilter
Until across the shore she saw
Another snail on fire
She panicked and thought to help him
Til she noticed the matches he had in his hand
So stopped did her panic within
How beautifully bright he burned
With all of his despair
His light rivalled the sun
Charred to a crisp
His yelling turned to a whisper
That snail was cooked well done.