Three poems on blackbirds and worms

The early bird catches the worm
 
Twirling, writhing, twisting,
Avoiding the deadly, stabbing
Beak.

Searching, seeking, fleeing,
Burrowing into fertile,
Nourishing, revitalising
Soil.

Cowering, sheltering, prodding, squirming,
Snapping, closing, struggling, ending.
The worm, turning
In the death embrace of the
Claw.

Imprisoned in the gaping maw,
The black cloak of death
Enfolds, flies up.
Gives to its offspring,
Life.

Shelter

Safe inside our burrows
Under soil, close and narrow
We shelter silently, safe and warm.

When raindrops drum,
Our wormy instincts thrum
And we surge up through the ground
In response to the sound.

Its only natural for a worm,
Sharp eyes see us squirm.
The black harbinger of doom
Unfurls its wings and zoom!

Talons tear through our clods,
Beak stabs and prods.
No safety anymore.
Exposed, naked on the floor.

The meat-seeking missile strikes.
Remorseless predator,
Devourer of worms.

Worms of the World Unite

Brother and Sister Worms:
We have had enough
Of being easy prey.
Let’s refuse to burrow,
Stop ploughing the furrow
And let it lie fallow,
Dry and barren as bone.
Let the blackbirds break their beaks
On our resolve, hard as stone.

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