The Worm Forgives The Plough

In my heart, I can still feel
 Every turn of the tractor wheel.
 Budded furrows cut across the hillside,
 Over the fields in the sunshine
 And it hurt, but I still grew
 With every clumsy punch I threw.
 Up in anger, at the empty summer sky -
 I saw the world from the underside.
 And when the worm began to turn,
 As it squirmed in the palm of my hand;
 I began to understand . . .
 Why it is,
 The worm forgives the plough.
 In my heart I can still feel,
 Every turn of the tractor wheel.
 As we cower in the shadow of the plow,
 Chewing us up and spitting us out
 As we fall our way back down
 Into the earth and underground,
 I discover that even a little worm
 Has its ways of taking revenge on the world.
 And when the worm began to turn,
 As it squirmed in the palm of my hand;
 I began to understand . . .
 Why it is,
 The worm forgives the plough.
 Why it is,
 The worm forgives the plough.