The Worm

A chirp, a sprinkle
grass on a swollen shoe
Eggs hiding
below the warmth
of their mother's belly
Calls
of the worm
oh where I am
A sweaty brow
strange on a cool day
fresh in the rain
but listening to the aware
And
another chirp
here, my worm
here you are
Last call
oh bring me back
But alas
food for self
all over again

Copyright 2006 Renee Baker