If I were a worm, small, wiggly, and low, Would you still smile every time I’d show? No hands to hold, no voice to speak, Just a little dirt trail week after week.
Would you still search for the softest ground, And guard me from robins that circle around? Would you still say, “You’re my dearest friend,” Even knowing my shape might never bend?
Love’s not just for the bright and fair, It blooms in the heart, not the skin we wear. So if I were a worm, I’d still be me— And I’d trust you’d love me endlessly.
For true love sees past the form and frame, It knows the soul and calls the name. And even in earth, so dark and deep, Your love’s the promise I’d always keep.
