Squirm Worm - For Cj - Poem by Michael Shepherd
Can you remember
when you were, oh, five,
and something just more perfect than
whatever that word meant then
and more delightful than
just made you squirm, it was so - well, that? just - right?
today I squirmed
and I'm great-grandfather's age.
I wonder how many others there are
around the fountain of life
squirming with delight
like a wriggly mass of
Comments about Squirm Worm - For Cj by Michael Shepherd
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Still I Rise
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Edgar Allan Poe
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep
Mary Elizabeth Frye
I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You