The worm had made it,
evaded all controls
arrived, fresh and alert
and looked around.
They'd placed him there,
among the lettuces and leeks,
a thousand acres of fine greens,
oh, he would thrive and stay alive!
Midmorning came, the little man
turned on the water, a fine mist
to freshen up the greens,
it caught him unawares, he fell,
was swept onto the vinyl floor
where fibers of a giant mop preside.
By afternoon he found himself,
in sorry state of health and mood,
inside a drain behind the store.
Surrounded by a thousand acres of
gray soapy scum and pastes of dirty brown.
It was, he mused, the way of things,
and he would now perceive all browns as greens.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
This is a 10 Plus....as I said in the forum...one of the best narrative poems I have ever read on PH.