The King of the Earthworms Poem by Gregory Orr
The King of the Earthworms
Waking each day, always at the end
of a tunnel,
dirt pressed against my face,
I move by taking a bite,
chewing my way through the packed rubble
of earth, roots, and bones.
Like Chuang-tzu's butterfly I cherish
an alternate life: that of a man
who lies down to sleep;
one wall of his room disappears
and the mattress floats out
into the night air.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/10/2026 7:41:47 PM # rel_20260806T081513Z_580e7f4
