Blackbird
A blackbird, singing heartily,
was balanced on a twig,
which twigged how much the blackbird weighed
and turned into a big
branch that surreptitiously
branched out, became a bough
and bowing at the awesome weight
turned to a trunk, which now
before it got truncated,
shot down into the roots
and rooted round, frustrated
to flex its unshod boots,
where all its spreading toes got soiled
among the good earth, firm,
wherein a little creature toiled,
a tiny, baby worm,
that wriggled, wormed into the air
to stretch out, gracefully,
until the blackbird saw him there
and harvested him for tea.
Hobbo's Poems 
Brilliant! 😁👍👏
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Not a happy ending though 😢
LikeLiked by 1 person
The blackbird was happy enough.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Yes
Reminds me of this
LikeLiked by 1 person
👍 I love this song. It’s on their White Album.
LikeLiked by 1 person
👍❤️
LikeLiked by 1 person
You forgot about the cat under the laurel spying on the blackbird. 😂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Pesky cats, yes! 😂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Delightful twisting rhymes. We follow the branches and find the same surprise.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you.
LikeLike
A perfect illustration of the circle of life, even if it didn’t work out so well for the worm.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Winners and losers, Greg. That’s life!
LikeLike
Wow! What a fun circular poem full of amazing word play. Brilliant!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Aw, thank you, Worms. 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person