Death to the Precious Earthworm

Like a centipede without legs it pushes it’s way

through the thick earth, unseeing, opting to avoid

stones and wood that silently strew its darkling trail,

chewing on Autumnal leaves, debris of long ago.

Finding new ways and rising to drink from sweet

spring rains, it noses its way through he roots 

of wonders that enjoy its bounteous secretors.


A bird waits, head tipped listening, beak tapping

and the innocent worm hangs in the beak ready

feed the gaping abyss of nestlings, ever hungry

and so the worm builds their bodies and gives

them flight over the verdant earth as cultured,

changed by its turgid turning of the hidden ’til

composted it sustains a complexion of creation.


Every second it is digesting and reinventing the

sustenance that builds until humans sprayed on

chemicals that kill, chemicals to will the plants

into a life that man chooses;  the worm slowly

absorbs poisons and artifices of the populace

and dying takes with it the gift it brought, life,

If only we’d eyes to see and the wisdom of worms