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I pushed the shining fork
Firmly into the yielding earth, And leaning lightly on the handle Moved aside the clinging ground Disturbing gleaming, silken thread, Called worm. I watched the blind, tube-like, creature, With nose held high, tasting air And searching for the cool dark safety lied loam, Of bracken filled loam, A home To which to return. The segments bunched fat Relaxed to thin-stretched strand And like a curving arrow looped Boldly between two stones. The flattened steep held tight To give the power needed To cleave the surface apart, And, quick as light, A flick of tail, No worm. |