Worms


Worms
Betsy McKenzie

Dry leaves, pine needles,
Drifts of years gone by,
Sifting slowly downward
Into darkness, meeting worms,
And pillbugs on the way.
This is the secret way,
The path to compost, rich black
Frizzles and crumbs of
Yesterdays; all come back,
Come back to the roots of
Today’s asters and daisies,
The maple and birch and pine.
I should welcome the slow
Ministries of the worms,
If I were as wise as the trees.

Jan. 14, 2006