Lawrence Hall, HSG
A Porch of Worms on
the Feast of St. Stephen
These winter squalls are almost springtime rains
Warm days, cool nights, and windblown showers at dawn
And on the porch appear some curious stains
Dark squirming squiggles progressing up from the lawn
Up from the lawn, up from their earthen beds
In desperate trails of iridescent slime
As peristaltic tubes with wavery heads
Rhythmically marking out their march in time
But all too brief their escape, alas -
A feast for robins who will not let them pass
