Slugfest

I happen to believe
Slugs have a memory
Trails laid down for many years
A state of order possibly
Mollusks they wander
Here and there at night
We can call them nocturnal
They prefer the dark to the light

Gastropoda of the silver slime
A title I hold dear
A recent structure at the house
Like a conservatory it’s clear
Underneath the back door the animals might try
Might attempt an ancestral route
Which Dear friends is why

A rubber mat might
Show signs of the cross cross silver slime
They come Into the home to eat
Maybe to pass the time
Escape from nocturnal raiders
And they are gone before the light
Leaving behind the tell tale trails
Evidence of the night.

In every garden area
Some 20000 slugs
True a right old army
And sometimes on our rugs
Left in a kitchen or a garage
You see the trails they made
at night
You have to give it to them
It’s their nightly raid