Byron the Earthworm

An earthworm's home you wouldn't like

It's cold and damp and full of night

Still, It's where I am and can only be,

When I scribble and wiggle hope you see,

How hard to write immortal poetry,

While watching out for greedy birdies,

When rains wash me along the gutters,

Helplessly drowning, my heart flutters,

Suddenly  over the  gutter crawl,

And burrow into earth under garden wall,

In darkness may live, but full of light,

Fearing rain, but still scribble in delight,

In humility offer these  poetic scribbles,

Penned with few words and lots of wiggles.

Copyright 2010- 2017, Thomas J Martin, all rights reserved.