Worms are the Christ
of small children,
who love to pull
fat, wriggling things
from dark earth.
They walk about
with the creature
in an outstretched palm.
'He likes me! ' one child
marvels with wide eyes.
Petting the worm,
they don't notice
it's moving less and less,
Or they leave it
in the 'worm-box'
without soil,
carrying the box
around by the handle,
explaining the worm's inertness:
'He must be taking a nap.'
Max Reif
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/worms-are-the-christ-of-small-children/
