Can you remember
when you were, oh, five,
and something just more perfect than
whatever that word meant then
and more delightful than
delight
just made you squirm, it was so - well, that? just - right?
today I squirmed
and I'm great-grandfather's age.
I wonder how many others there are
around the fountain of life
squirming with delight
like a wriggly mass of
white
cherubic
maggots
at poetry
Michael Shepherd
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/squirm-worm-for-cj/
