Inchworm travels.
Squirming, squeezing, slipping up the tree.
Working without stop for the wonder I’ll be.
Green as the grass and full of purpose.
Up high I’ll go and hang by my silk.
Flutter in the wind jumping leaves with a thrill.
Worm some will say just scooting along.
Avoiding pesky wasps which may try to eat me.
How very wrong!
I’ll burrow into the dirt or find shelter in fallen leaves.
Then wait for a season for which I may agree.
Time to emerge and change my old skin.
No longer inching along but with new wings and a brown body.
A whole new spin!
See me little humans and watch aghast and amazed.
The fantastic inchworm always intrigues and delights.
Be fascinated and let me crawl on your finger.
I’ll be a moth soon, it’s my destiny.
What a marvelous way to wake up. I’m one not to linger!
