Thistle Down

By Ethel

Angle-Worms

Angle-worms...
Are larger than a germ.
They come from the soil,
They wiggle and squirm.

Through the soil they burrow,
With either end out.
Eating decaying matter,
Finishing up a doubt.

That they are worth,
Many times more.
Than the litter, dirt, and spit,
That lie upon the floor.

Large meaty pieces,
That fishes think are great.
Flowing in the currents,
And then to masticate.

Threaded through the middle,
With gratifying terms.
When a fisherman has water,
And a can of worms.


E.P. 1908 - 1989

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