I am a wretchedly poor little worm.
Thoughts of only doom and gloom.
Who will fall to one’s doom,
to endure a dark and dirty loam?
Clouds of sadness loom,
over my cold, limbless tomb.
In this hopeless doom,
thoughts of worming in a warm womb.
Let my confidence groom,
as I put on a hopeful plume,
end all thoughts of worthless worm.
[ After reading Psalm 22 repetitively, two words remain ringing in my mind – worm and womb. With this, I was inspired to write the above poem. ]
