Classic Poem

The snail says, “Alas!”
And the snail says, “Alack!
Why must I carry
My house on my back?
You have a home
To go in and out,
Why must mine always be
Carried about?
Not any tables.
Not any chairs,
Not any windows,
Not any stairs,
Pity my misery,
Pity my wail—
For I must always be
Just a poor snail.”
But he's terribly slow,
So perhaps it's as well
That his shell is his home,
And his home is his shell.