A slug named Ernie

Ernie the slug, so slow and slick,
Leaves a silver trail across the brick.
Through garden paths and dewy grass,
He glides at dusk, a quiet mass.

His shell‑less coat, a glossy hue,
Reflects the moonlight’s gentle view.
With tentacles that twitch and sniff,
He samples every leaf and chiff.

When rain comes down in steady sheets,
Ernie emerges, cheeks replete.
He nibbles on the lettuce leaves,
A midnight feast the cool night weaves.

No hurry in his leisurely pace,
He finds contentment in each space.
Though gardeners may sigh and frown,
Ernie’s soft glide brings quiet crown.

So here’s to Ernie, humble, slow,
Who teaches us to take it slow—
To savour the damp, the earth, the night,
And find sweet joy in gentle light.