poems

A Worm’s Life

He rested in the patio after a little gardening. A small dark spot on the tiled floor aroused his curiosity. It looked like a button, possibly lost from a garment. It was hardly noticeable in the center of the expanse of dark tiles. Did he detect a slight movement?

Yes. It was a tiny, coiled black worm. How did it get there, so far from any plant or soil, its natural habitat?

And how would it ever find its way home?

And why should he be concerned?

Because it is alive.

So what? It’s only a worm.

But it‘s life.

He carefully picked it up on the tip of a gardening trowel and deposited it near some plants.

He returned to the patio and thought about the button that was a worm, and was alive.

Later, he looked for the worm where he left it.

It was not there.

 

 

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