Not exactly “To a Skylark,” but you have to take your inspiration where you find it.  A slug poem:

Trail of Tears

Hope is frail
and I am frail
and both are surely dying.
The slug leaves a glistening trail
as evidence of his trying
to get somewhere,
somewhere over there,
where the way’s not slick with crying.
There’s salt in tears,
no hope in fears—of this
there’s no denying,
until finally bliss
is one last kiss—
death-defying!
After that, who knows?
The going slows
for a sluggish rhymer crying.
The meter pumps a salty sea
like the one that pumps inside,
further proof, should it be needed,
I haven’t quite yet died.