This excerpt from Theodore Roethke’s poem “The Sloth” sums up this loveable mammal perfectly:
In moving slow he has no Peer.
You ask him something in his Ear,
he thinks about it for a Year;
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.
Photo credit: Athena Alexander