Changing Ends

The gravedigger’s spade shall dig and not waver Theres gossip abroad and it’s gossip to savour Four dozen worms that were once many more Awaited the man they’d encountered before It wasn’t just blackbirds that liked a good worm This man’s midnight footsteps would make them all squirm It wasn’t allowed but the soil was just right So he would sneak in under cover of night His quarry he’d seek, looking over his shoulder With each spade he shoved he grew just slightly bolder The worms had lost cousins and uncles and aunts And mothers and fathers who stood little chance The hole is now dug and the day turns to night The worms sit and wait… could the gossip be right? The morning’s approach hails a day that is new And footsteps pound rhythms that none of them knew But gossip in wormville takes prisoners few “Let’s just sit and wait, that’s the best thing to do.” And then there’s a coffin, and all the worms yearned For a taste of the man who refused to be burned No cremation for him for he must pay his debt His gift upon death which in life he had set His gravestone would read, “I’ve caught so many fish, On worms I dug here… now I’m their tasty dish,”