An Earthworm’s Soliloquy
By Mabel Corinne Craker
An angleworm of low degree,
Disconsolate and weary,
Retraced his humble lineage
Through ages dark and dreary.
Said he: “Quite irksome is this toil
My fathers long have cherished.
Their lot has been to till the soil
By which they all were nourished.
And yet, not one above this plane
The greater heights has risen.
Renowned we might have been to-day
Had they but only striven. “Aware that this progressive age
Controls the men of action,
And woman steps from off her throne
To join another faction,
Why need I here remain unseen
Beneath the feet of mortals?
I’ll rise above this lowly place,
And enter life’s fair portals.” And thus emerged from out the soil
This worm of small dimensions.
He moved with a gigantic lurch,
For he had great intentions. The heat from August’s tropic sun
Fast melted his ambition.
He longed for the cool realm beneath
His chosen high position. ’Tis but a fable. That is all.
Yet note we well the moral—
He who contented fills his sphere
Deserves the crown of laurel. The God who formed us knows the place
For which we’re best adapted.
He’ll soon confer His great “Well done”
On work we deem contracted.