I'd Like to be a Tree

I love the slimy things
That crawl along the ground,
And slither, hiss, or sting,
And things that make no sound.

I love the lumpy ones
With scales or too much hair,
Who have a scent that stuns
And lurk within a lair.

These animals all love
Themselves—deserving more,
As much as any dove
For ponies to adore.