The Beauty of Slow

Terry the tortoise would sigh,
“I’m slow as the clouds drifting by.
The rabbits all race,
The swallows all chase,
While I only plod, step and try.”
 
But slowly he spotted the dew,
On webs spun in silver and blue.
The daisies that yearned,
The rainbows that burned,
The wonders the quick never knew.
 
So Terry walked on with a grin,
Content with the world he was in.
“For beauty,” said he,
“Was waiting for me—
And slow is the best way to win.”