Little Worm

Used to hate to be a little spec of dust Into the infinite desert Thousands of sands A little worm inside a giant jar of maggots

Yet the hourglass has turned Minds have been opened May be small, but all is infinite in importance

Caterpillar under a giant tree Little boy on a giants shoulder

Trillions of avian songs From the trees of infinity Billions of lives Millions of story threads Branching, always crossing Parallel yet never touching

An acorn that might grow into a giant oak Or a bush singing amongst the woods The woods of dancing

Little worms become a tornado of colour A tornado of butterflies In the forest of songs Millions of songs