The washed worm wriggled towards
the grass margin
All clean and sparkling after the summer rain
I could see through his glass frame
Pink and purple like a precious stone
He hastened across the wet street
Reluctant to become a blackbird’s treat
Or be squashed on a shopper’s shoe
Just like us, he too
Scurried to be in a special space
Find his own particular place
In a world full of the human race.
