An earthworm lay upon a stone,
all grey and wet, and quite alone.
He'd lost his way in gentle rain
and had no notion where to turn again.

Then someone came and, swift and kind,
picked him up and tossed him — mind! —
right over the garden fence,
into the soil, where worms make sense.

He lay there still, a little shy,
beneath the cool earth, safe and dry.
He took a breath — if worms can do —
and wondered what a worm should do.

Then, as all proper earthworms must,
he burrowed through the fragrant dust.
He dug one tunnel, then another,
through soil as soft as moss and feather.

The earth smelled rich, the earth smelled deep,
the kind of place where worms can sleep.
Then suddenly, below the ground,
he found a tunnel, smooth and round.

He crept inside and looked about —
and there another worm came out.
A lady worm! And what a sight!
She seemed to make the darkness bright.

She smelled of rain, of roots and earth,
of everything that soil is worth.
They touched their noses, nose to nose,
and soon enough, as no one knows,

they liked each other more each day,
and found a quiet, wormy way
to share their tunnels underground,
where love can grow without a sound.

A little ring, so pale and light,
soon held their eggs in place just right.
And when the proper time had come,
the ring slipped off — its work was done.

Then, when the moment finally came,
the little ring released the same:
two tiny worms, both fresh and round,
to live and burrow underground.

They dug their tunnels, deep and wide,
through the rich earth on every side.
The soil breathed easier, dark and sweet,
and green things flourished overhead.

And so the days went on their way,
through rain and night and summer day.
Until, one day, beneath the ground,
another little worm was found.

He smelled of rain and earth and moss —
and somehow, there was no way to miss
that something old was starting new.

And then the tale began anew.

For deep beneath the grass and sun,
where roots grow thick and rivers run,
the oldest story still is found:

one life begins, another comes round.

And so the circle, soft and slow,
keeps turning in the earth below.
One worm meets one - and, sure enough,
the story starts again. And again.