The Sloth
In moving-slow he has no Peer.
You ask him something in his ear,
He thinks about it for a year;
And, then, before he says a Word
There, upside down (unlike a Bird),
He will assume that you have Heard—
A most Ex-as-per-at-ting Lug.
But should you call his manner Smug,
He’ll sigh and give his branch a Hug;
Then off again to sleep he goes,
Still swaying gently by his Toes,
And you just know he knows he knows.
by Theodore Roethke
from To Read a Poem
Harcourt Brace, 1982
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