Slow Worm by Roly Stimson

Rivulet of molten gold

Playing possum on the path

Slow worm

Stopped

That's my day made

But what to do for the best?

I don't fancy

Your chances much there

A very gentle nudge perhaps

Yes, now slithering

Tongue flickering

Away home through moist musty leaves

They melt your heart

These creatures

The privilege my friend

Was all mine