A Lower Form
Worms that wander and wiggle
From rain, they cross the road
Scraping their skin
Racing the drying sun
Feeding the feasting birds
They can not see where they wander
They do not know why the wiggle
The rain chokes them
The road wounds them
The sun burns them
The birds swallow them
They have no thought, no history and no blame
No reason to make this a better place
For they are only earth worms
And they do not predict the rain
Copyright September 2005
Gary Pilarchik
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