The worm

Why have you never been happy? Asked the caterpillar

I do not know, said the worm

For I have tried, to find meaning in wriggling through mud

Surely I have put effort into higher purpose 

Yet it eludes me for certain

And the caterpillar


For he would soon transfer his frustration

Into colored flight

Becoming even if for a short while

A thing of polination and cast of beauty

Surely people wept when his life, so short, would end

And still they taunt the worm though it cleanses the earth

For we are kinder to beauty than usefulness

And our lot is hard to fathom

From a ninety degree turn

Walking as we do, on top of the worm


23 thoughts on “The worm

  1. And the fruit of the flower the butterfly will pollinate will, one way or another feed the worm. And, as Hamlet said, by way of a worm; “… a king may go a progress through the guts of a beggar.”

  2. A metaphor in all its glory when life is too busy being life. You’re writing it out and creatively too. Keep at it. Move the mountains, yell at the moon, and be the wind. I wish you peace from this moment forward.

  3. The worm, is unhappy, perhaps, because it doesn’t realize what it’s to become in the futures, like the caterpillar already knows of its futures as a beautitful butterfly?

  4. Just when I think I have a new favorite of yours just a few days ago….you go a along and do it again….. 🙂

    Bravo Bella sister dear…. and bear hugs to you from many miles away… xx love ya

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