My spading fork turning the earth turns
This fellow out – without touching him this time.
Robbed of all resistance to his progress
He squirms awhile in the too-easy air
Before an ancient and implicit purpose
Starts him traveling in one direction
Reaching out, contracting, reaching out,
Contracting – a clean and glistening earth-pink.
He has turned more earth than I have with my fork.
He has lifted more earth than all men have or will.
Breaking the earth in spring men break his body.
And it is broken in the beaks of birds.
He has become and will again become
The flying and singing of birds. Yet another spring
I shall find him working noiselessly in the earth.
When I am earth again he will be there.
Robert Francis, 1901-1987 – “Earthworm” from Collected Poems: 1936-1976

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