Ode to a worm

-Calvero:You've interrupted me in the middle of my sonnet.

-In the middle of your what?

-Not in the middle of my what, in the middle of my sonnet. My ode to a worm:

"oh, worm, why do you turn into the earth from me? 'Tis Spring! Oh Worm! Lift up your head whichever end that be and smile at the sun, untwine your naked form and with your tail, fling! High the dirt in ecstasy! 'Tis Spring...

-Ridiculous! A worm smiling at the sun!

-Why not?

-In first place, a worm cannot smile.

-How do you know? Did you ever appeal to its sense of humor?

-Of course not!

-Well then...

-But it doesn't make sense.

-Why should poetry make sense? Don't you know there is such a thing as poetic license?

-Just a moment! I've given you no license.

-This thing is so much bigger than ourselves. At this moment, Im beginning to grasp the meaning of life. Oh! What a waste of energy! What is this urge that makes life go on and on?

-You're right. What does it all mean? Where are we going?

-You're going South, dear. Your hand is in my pocket. Naughty.

-How did it get there?

-Pure magnetism, old dear. Pure magnetism.

-Why are you antagonistic towards me?

-Must we be serious?

-You make it difficult for me to know you.

-Read my memoirs in the Police Gazette.

-You are a funny man.

-Why?

-To talk about worms the way you do.

-Why not? Even flies are romantic.

-Flies?

-Oh, yes! Have you seen them coming from the stable to the table, chasing each other over knots of sugar and keeping their appointments in the butter?
...

-Just think: all life motivatd by love. How beautiful!

-By no means is beautiful. On the contrary: it's vile, wicked, awful! But is wonderful.

-I like you. You're sensitive, you feel things.

-Don't encourage me!

-It's true! So few people have the capacity to feel.

-Or the opportunity."


Charles Chaplin, Limelight.

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