Nine Feet

I’m a moral in a secret box,
An earthworm, chewing through a sour meal,
A home, still within the daisy farm.
Oh, black ants, parasites, nematodes.
This trunk’s cold with its precious relics.
Jackpot’s dying for foxy diggers.
I’m an end, a joke, a passing fad.
I’ve left my mark to make a payment,
Jumped in the lake with my mom and dad.

About the Author

Jeff Starr = Creative thinker. Passionate about free and open Web.