The Worm Has Turned Poem by Bryan Taplits

A heated story are in these words
That I use in this woeful tale,
About this worm-sized denizen
And how he viewed the world.
No matter how he stretched and ate
No matter whatever he'd done,
He regretted that he could never stand on his tiptoes
So that he could gaze at the setting sun.
His horizon-then- was just 12 inches ahead
and as he wormed his way,
sometimes he couldn't even see that far-
And this is what he would dream when a'bed-
'Sometimes-I could use a car.'

Then one day the sun snaked and arrived in the sky
As this worm steadily inched towards the grass,
No clouds were cast overhead
He sweated, as he saw his worldview-
the verge, it beckoned at last.
He thought he felt a piercing heat on his back
As he took on a dazzling rouge colored hue,
And now he's part of the sidewalk's cemetery-
With an everlasting and heavenly view.