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U3A Writing: To A Worm

Monica Duckering’s poem considers the worm from every angle.

Scientific research has failed in one direction,
Worms it seems defy detection.
No tags, no brand, no mark
Can be affixed to their bodies in the dark
To track identities like this,
To ascertain who's mister, who's a miss,
To get to know how old, how new,
To tell the rate at which they grew.
We don't know how they make more babies,
Don't know if they are men or ladies.

Worms have no eyes, they have no ears.
That's of course how it appears.
They haven't even any hair
Which seems to me a bit unfair.
They have no teeth with which to bite,
Couldn't ever fly a kite.
No limbs to climb the smallest tree.
Haven't tried to grow a knee,
No beak to peck, nor voice to call,
Certainly can't catch a ball

We cannot do without the thing.
A garden needs the extra zing.
The creature turns and airs the soil,
Saves us all a heap of toil.
When up come veggies for our meal
We'll thank the little wriggly eel.
If I am sad
Or feeling bad
I fill a bucket full of tears
And that can last me years and years.
But poor pink, slippery, slimy worm
Can only ever slink and squirm.

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