Autumn Poem 4, (Touch)

We should love our friends, the Worms

 

Touching Autumn

 

Kicked leaves, dried crisp by autumnal gales,

Fly, tickling as the wind blows them

Onto my face and down my open collar.

 

Riffling them through cold hands,

They scratch and I itch.

My hands are drawn down

Beyond wind-dried crust,

Into the beginnings of moisture

To happen upon - worms.

 

Worms, pink and sinuous to the sight,

Cold, wet and slimy to the touch.

What have you done, worms,

To my lovely crispy, crackly, crunchy leaves?

Gathering up leaves, worms, and other detritus,

Weight hangs heavy upon my arms;

I build a heap whose heat will warm my cat

Until Spring, when its heated, outdoor bed

Will run as rich, fine humus through my fingers,

Fresh from the voracious annelid tunnels of,

Wet, pink, slimy, well-fed, wriggly, wonderful worms.

 

                                                John Berry

Reviews

[Lily1111]

Who would have thought you could write such a lovely poem about worms? It shows your incredible talent.
Worms are the best friends of gardners. This poem was so vividly written that you could almost feel the slimy worms in your hand. You really did a great job of bringing the reader into the moment with beautiful language throughout this wonderful poem.

[Jabez]

haha! graphic! nice write.

anyway, when i was kid, i use to pour salt and vinegar on worms, then i watch them die. bwahaha