.
Twenty-seven thousand teeth,
no shell above but slime beneath,
their appetite’s beyond belief,
they eat their weight each day.
And if you grow azaleas
or try your hand at dahlias,
you’ll soon grow used to failure,
they’ll munch your blooms away.
It doesn’t matter what you do,
they’ll always get one up on you.
They’ll crunch on leaves the whole night through
and strip your garden bare.
And even if you spent the night
with salt and spade, prepared to fight,
they’ll wipe the floor with you, alright,
you haven’t got a prayer.
Don’t be upset, don’t look folorn,
abandon beds and plant a lawn;
you’ll never have to dread the dawn,
for slugs don’t dine on grass.
They’ll soon give up and move next door.
Though mowing lawns can be a bore,
you’ll stay slug-free, forever more,
and sleep, in peace, at last.
.
Paul Hughes 2010
.
.
photo: http://pensbyetal.blogspot.com/2008_07_01_archive.html

Love the poem!
Don’t love slugs!
I hate the things too. I can’t grow rudbeckias or lupins because of them. Coreopsis too, they’re eaten within hours….