The Inchworm

I can't help myself, I love inchworms. As a boy, I spent long stretches of time with them. They are enchanting partly because they always want to go up.

The Inchworm

An inchworm upon my shoulder
stood upon his rear parts
and surveyed his summit,
swaying this way and that,
seeking a place to place
his front parts
for the upward climb.

He might have begun
at my elbow
and counted, by inches,
the distance, just like a shirtmaker
does his measuring tape.
Had he begun at my wrist
his day would have been
nearly fourteen inches longer
but at least the total length
of my arm would have been
properly accounted for
and the entire sleeve,
now fully bespoke by an inchworm
and his cousin the silkworm,
would have fit like a glove,
perhaps an odd simile
but it does bring a smile.

I set him upon the lowest branch
of a tall Hemlock,
thus giving him great job security.
He took his first upward step,
making a perfect omega
and we parted amicably.