Widsith or Unferth

(Never let it be said that I don't write any original verse on here)

I'll show you now a soul    that was shaped for beedom:
To feed upon the essences    enfolded by petals;
To labour at its little drop    of liquid gold –
And to reserve its sting,    though it might strike at gods.

I'll speak of one again,    one in snailhood biding:
Tattling with tined tongue;    turgid with leaves;
Dragging what it calcified,    to do it little good
When some blackbird upbellies it    and bites it awake.

Too cryptic? Have a read of this. Many such cases, very sad.