BOBBLE THE WORM
Wormy wormy don't bring germy germy,
Wormy wormy just squirmy squirmy.
Over looked and often sattened,
the undergrowth bears witness to what has happened.
Beneath the surface they graft for gardens,
unlike us, we selfish no pardons.
They have a place just as we,
we cast them off because we can't see.
But down below, in the dark damp soil,
they work and sliver as birds peck to boil.
One day soon they'll have their day,
hanging from our flesh like bits of hay.
They will eat us too, when we sleep in bed,
and turn us like soil, just as we destroyed their loyal.