By George Ambrose (Lansdowne, PA)
The ants tell stories of what goes on here
But what do nosy neighbors know
Of what lies beneath?
We worms don’t say much.
We just get the job done.
Eating forest litter and turning it to loam.
Making soil so rich
That it’s kept behind a large, locked door.
And that’s what lies beneath.
You might peek in
But all you’ll see is the darkness,
Where we work our magic.
Other bugs, millipedes and such,
May come and go, but it is us
Who lie beneath.
No one rakes the forest leaves
And yet in Spring, they’re gone.
Do you think the fairies do it?
Then you would be wrong!
It’s us, the worms, that lie beneath
Working without being told
Busy turning leaf litter into forest “gold.”