In some earth soil remembering ten and one-quarter Springs,
Knee-deep beneath wiggles a worm blind as a leaf;
No place it seemed though was safe from a spying robin,
Nor a britches boy sizing it up to be mouth-heaped by a pond fish —
It preferred to be out of a watery aspic and lewd beckoning by feathers.
In a long book read, a lady in a paisley dress perchance to view
This dark, thick worm by a foliage — dodging bell-tongued thrushes
And descant young lads toting rods and hooks fisting for a pond;
Now, this fair young lass during a stroll performed a solitary gesture
By gently picking up the earthworm to free it from all molesting.
She fit it neatly in moist soil in a brick dust clay pot; no longer was
The worm held hostage in a discipline of garden earth.
But one day a suitor (unscrupulously austere in his black and white ways)
Came to court the fine young lady — unbearably betrayed, so she
Morosely withdrew. He’d hooked the worm and knee-deeped it to a bluegill.
Copyright © 02/14/18 lance sheridan®