In moving-slow he has no Peer. <br />You ask him something in his Ear, <br />He thinks about it for a Year; <br /> <br />And, then, before he says a Word <br />There, upside down (unlike a Bird), <br />He will assume that you have Heard- <br /> <br />A most Ex-as-per-at-ing Lug. <br />But should you call his manner Smug, <br />He'll sigh and give his Branch a Hug; <br /> <br />Then off again to Sleep he goes, <br />Still swaying gently by his Toes, <br />And you just know he knows he knows.<br /><br />Theodore Roethke<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-sloth/
