O little wriggly worm, how much I love

Your damp and soft and slimy slippery feeling.

And as I bring you to my lips,

I feel you are too good to be consumed by little me.

And yet I've gotta live, as say the wide boys;

So here I go, scrunch scrunch scrunch scrunch scrunch,

Now stretch my neck to give a gulp and swallow,

To feel them squirming down my derby kell,

Oh, that was wicked — what the doctor ordered,

I'll try to find another just as good,

Before those beastly blackbirds come and clear them,

And take them back to feed their greedy brood.

Oh goody! Here's a lovely slithery slug,

Oozing oceans of nourishing slimy goo.

Look, more! Enough to sell them by the jug —

Enough for me to offer some to you.

What? Don't you human beings like 'em?

Not realise how good they are for you?

Tastes vary, I suppose, ad infinitum,

P'raps just as well you folk don't eat 'em too.

Else there wouldn't be enough to go round, would there?

— Harry Hedgehog

Poetry and Prose Archives

Len (Snowie) Baynes

16.11.06 Front Page

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