A Poem a Day (498): Worms

 
Worms
 
He stands so small,
enclosed within tight fencing
 
soldier-straight to the sun.
The soil so soft to touch,
 
he buries his fingers in
deep, searching for movement.
 
In sienna shorts, long socks
and sandals, his golden locks
 
dazzle, blue eyes fixed on his task.
His pawing soon finds one. Tensing,
 
he surrounds it, digs it out.
It squirms, the pink flesh peeking
 
through his fist at the day,
seeking the safety of lost soil.
 
The boy laughs and runs inside,
grasping his trophy of the earth.

Copyright Vickie Johnstone, April 2, 2022