The poem
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-ing 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.
This poem is on the video "the Favorite Poem Project" and read by a little girl who does the Best job reading a poem of anyone I have ever seen. You will love this poem even more after hearing (& seeing) her read it.
this is a great poem and sloths are very slowly moving cretures they can even grow moss on them because they go upp trees and they stay up there for so long