We are the worms, eating lifeless leaves,
That are juicy and lost buoyancy,
When the knees are making noise,
The air can't lift these to take,
To the dance floor of the atmosphere,
Where the lighter things of living,
And non livings find the temporary solace,
Swirling to make their pin heads,
To be filled with giddy toddy, just,
Brought down from the palm trees,
But we are the worms, hiding in our rooms,
That are furnished with airy holes and damp,
Munching is our game, with our toothless mouth,
Moving around quicker with our legless segments,
What we have created, that exist for ever,
As the compost and then the earth of the globe,
Where the knowledge sprouts from peas and honey,
While our homes are demolished in human colony,
Test tubes can make a zygote, not the progesterone,
Protecting uterus, that should be fertile,
we can't leave our own fossils,
On the face of the running water,
But below the surface of lies and truth,
we still work as the hermit,
Expecting any other benefits,
But our kingdom of earth.
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