Vermin

In the early morn, she flutters down the damp walk,

Looking for her writhing, sodden breakfast: a worm

Dispelled from its home, flooded from the pelting rain—

Easy pickings when they have no place to return;

She nibbles at the granite, probes through dewy blades,

And gobbles each bug for her baby bird back home.

The pest squirms atop the ground, longing for its home,

Defenseless as its stalker flits across the walk,

Relentless wriggling futile beneath the barbed blades,

Keen talons piercing soft flesh, whittling the worm;

The feeble bug abandons all hope of return

And its hunter worships the bounty of the rain.

For the earthworms are easiest found when the rain

Infiltrates the soft, soggy ground, seizing their home—

Even once the clouds pass on, they may ne’er return,

They merely bake ’neath the sun, for humans to walk

Upon, never heeding the feeble, shriveled worm

Being trampled under their soulless, thoughtless blades.

Longing to restore to their earth, housed below blades

Of lilting grass, dappled with dew from recent rain;

Yet humans think not to squash the withering worm,

They do not feel its suff’ring; they merely march home,

Focusing on their self-seeking path down the walk,

Home-bound, refreshed aft the rain, eager to return.

How should a storm so great prevent a life’s return—

Abandoned, each concrete pebble a piercing blade,

Such yielding creatures are not meant for cruel side walk;

Still songbirds croon melodies to harken the rain,

Come morning—prey, devour, and dart back to their home,

There’s no need for sympathy for a simple worm.

Vile creature, scum of the earth—none think of a worm

’Til they no longer possess a home to return;

Even then, inconvenience revolts, not their home,

It matters not if they rot ’neath the sun’s sharp blades

May we exalt the lyric beauty of the rain,

And decry the mangled worms littered on the walk.

In the end, the spent home of a poor, lowly worm—

Waits for someone to walk by, guide the pest’s return

’Neath the beckoning blades, finally free from rain. 

Eden Bridge-Hayes ’29 (edenbridgehayes@college.harvard.edu) thinks sestina poems are really cool.