See the pewter raindrop scoff upon the walk,
See the autumn limb clench against a winter wind
Hear the march of nematodes beneath forgotten logs:
All the world's a lot of bluff and blunder -
Nothing more than worm and wonder.
Green our Beltane days of melting acrimony.
Green the gunning sky before a twister's raid.
Green the garlic mustard, bastardizing snow and Sunday.
The moss sleeps deep in thought and thunder.
All the world is worm and wonder.
Keep the leaves, brown, abounding for the tricksters,
Stir the twigs and dusty rot into a pool of muck and moil,
Heap the past, the past consuming, up into a mound of dearth,
And feed the teeming creatures soiling under.
We're lucky we're not caught in worm and wonder.
My lady danced upon a silver marble block,
Feathers in her hair, and red rose petals at her feet,
Underneath a sun-light dome and solar-powered clock,
Singing sweet, whilst came the word of oil and plunder.
A world away of worm and wonder.
We plant a spade, a garden tea, all the more for victory,
But wherefore is my boyhood roam, my winding panoply,
Where ants were lords and snakes great dragons of the sea?
The land awaits its endless turn asunder.
Grey the mind of worm and wonder.
See the pitch upon this lightly frosted forest glade.
See the life-infested humus slightly heave and roll.
Hear the march of nematodes beneath forgiving blades:
Lay me in the heart of waste, and wonder
Of our saintly days of worm and wonder.