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ffloIn some unknown-durationed sluggish spell,
An earthworm. It's not dead. Perhaps it's been
Chopped off---this part alive, if not full well,
Adjusting to where it now starts and ends.
Amazing thing those earthworms do. Last week
The moon slipped down to nothing---"new," we say,
Such optimists. It’s easy, though, to be,
When waxing's scheduled right down to the day.
No fun, of course, were everything so set.
And that worm segment won't care, when it's showered---
Tonight, tomorrow---and it's happ'ly wet,
If rain had been predicted to the hour.
That's us who want signs happenstance will call,
And wonder whether it will come at all.
An earthworm. It's not dead. Perhaps it's been
Chopped off---this part alive, if not full well,
Adjusting to where it now starts and ends.
Amazing thing those earthworms do. Last week
The moon slipped down to nothing---"new," we say,
Such optimists. It’s easy, though, to be,
When waxing's scheduled right down to the day.
No fun, of course, were everything so set.
And that worm segment won't care, when it's showered---
Tonight, tomorrow---and it's happ'ly wet,
If rain had been predicted to the hour.
That's us who want signs happenstance will call,
And wonder whether it will come at all.
