I don't know where they come from.
I just know that they're here.
Early spring; the compost heap - the worms appear
They do such work methodically
The leaves will disappear
To rich black soil becoming earth
The worms are here
And I wonder in this universe
Of worms we cannot see
They're slipping in and slipping thru
To leave things as they all must be
And in a rotting compost heap
They've come to eat - oh dear!
To feast on any putrid waste
The worms are here.
The worms are here
The worms are here
The worms