I’d rather be a sparrow than a snail.
Yes I would.
If I could,
I surely would.

The fence runs along the cliffside.  You walk alongside it in veiled sunlight, runners passing by along the narrow paved trail.  The smell of ocean rushes past in a gust of wind from the shoreline below.  Turn at the familiar trail, along a row of grasping bushes which stand bare from the winter.  Your bench sits alone on the small cliff, waiting as always.  (El Condor Pasa from Bridge Over Troubled Waters)

An old Simon and Garfunkel record, loved by our two generations.