Thanks be to the earthworms.

I must have been a Buddhist in my previous life. For the life of me, I cannot harm any insect as I gain consciousness that they are sentient beings, too, just like me.  For one, they are the best gardener.  They toil the earth and that’s all they do.  A single act that causes the garden to flourish.  So, when I see an earthworm that lost its way, I make sure that I move it to the earth and grassy spot where it can burrow itself into the ground.

Aren’t you glad at least that the earthworms
Under the grass are ignorant, as they eat the earth,
Of the good they confer on us, that their silence
Isn’t a silent reproof for our bad manners,
Our never casting earthward a crumb of thanks
For their keeping the soil from packing so tight
That no root, however determined, could pierce it? 

Imagine if they suspected how much we owe them,
How the weight of our debt would crush us
Even if they enjoyed keeping the grass alive,
The garden flowers and vegetables, the clover,
And wanted nothing that we could give them,
Not even the merest nod of acknowledgment.
A debt to angels would be easy in comparison,
Bright, weightless creatures of cloud, who serve
An even brighter and lighter master. 

Lucky for us they don’t know what they’re doing,
These puny anonymous creatures of dark and damp
Who eat simply to live, with no more sense of mission
Than nature feels in providing for our survival.
Better save our gratitude for a friend
Who gives us more than we can give in return
And never hints she’s waiting for reciprocity.

 

Worms by Carl Deniss