Don't Poke a Worm till it Wriggles

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Don't Poke a Worm till it Wriggles Page 2

by Celia Warren


  Right up to his saddle

  And never went there again.

  The Wise Old Worm

  A wise old worm squirmed under an oak,

  The more it saw, the less it spoke.

  The less it spoke, the more it learned.

  Why aren’t we all like that wise old worm?

  A Prickly Task

  Slightly Soiled is slightly scared and here’s the reason why:

  some ants have seen a dragon in the nettle-bed nearby.

  He thinks he might investigate but dares not go alone.

  He wriggles off to find his friend but Humble’s not at home.

  Mrs Worm’s a bit concerned, she’s heard the rumour, too.

  “When you catch up with Humble, please make sure she stays with you.”

  So off towards the nettle-bed young Slightly starts to squirm,

  feeling quite the boldest of the bravest kind of worm.

  Soon, as he hides behind a rock, he spots a pair of wings,

  big and green and prickly: “The dragon!” Slightly sings.

  And though the young worm trembles, it’s not quite all he feared:

  the dragon isn’t scary – it’s more a little … weird!

  Then, when it shakes its spiky wings, its head comes into view.

  Slightly Soiled starts to laugh: “Oh, Humble Worm! It’s you!”

  The nettle-bed lies just below a prickly holly tree.

  The ‘wings’ are simply holly leaves on Humble’s back, you see.

  She’s trying hard to shake them off – they’re heavy and they prick!

  But Slightly Soiled soon sets her free with skill (and one small stick).

  “Today I slayed a dragon!” cries Slightly Soiled. He’s proud.

  And Humble Worm cries, “So did I!” But, maybe, not as loud.

  Mary Had a Wiggly Worm

  Mary had a wiggly worm,

  Its face was pink as candy,

  And when poor Mary lost her pen

  Her worm came in quite handy.

  It squirmed with her to school one day

  And stayed for half a term,

  So Mary dipped it in the ink

  And wrote with Wiggly Worm.

  More Charming Worms

  Though worms enjoy dampness,

  life can become too damp,

  and that is why they show their heads

  should anybody stamp.

  Some folk hold competitions

  to see who can charm the most:

  earthworms, in the country,

  or lugworms, at the coast.

  And now I see you’re thinking:

  Why trick the foolish things?

  Well, speaking strictly for myself:

  to find a worm that sings

  And, once they reach the surface,

  each worm must take its chance,

  but if I find a worm that sings

  I’ll teach it how to dance.

  Mr Mole

  Mister Mole

  He dug a hole

  As fast as he could do it.

  A worm in the field

  Held a stone as a shield

  So Moley could not chew it.

  Incey Wincey Wormy

  Incey Wincey Wormy

  Wriggled up a root.

  Down came the rain and

  On went his boot.

  His boot filled with water.

  Oh, what a pain!

  So Incey Wincey Wormy

  Emptied out the rain.

  Simple Squirmy

  Simple Squirmy met a wormy

  trying to uncoil,

  Said Simple Squirmy to the wormy,

  “Let me taste your soil.”

  Said the wormy to Simple Squirmy,

  “Show me first your leaf.”

  Said Simply Squirmy to the wormy

  “I lost it to a thief.”

  Hickory Dickory Dee

  Hickory dickory dee,

  A worm squirmed up a tree.

  An apple dropped,

  The poor worm flopped.

  Hickory dickory dee.

  Hickory dickory doze,

  A worm squirmed up a rose.

  It met a spike

  It did not like,

  Hickory dickory doze.

  Hickory dickory dellie,

  A worm squirmed up my wellie.

  I dug up a spud,

  The worm ate the mud,

  Hickory dickory dellie.

  Wormy Warnings

  See a worm, pick it up,

  All day long you’ll have good luck.

  See a worm, let it lie,

  You’ll eat worms before you die.

  More Wormy Warnings

  Meet a worm on Monday: have a happy day;

  Talk to a worm on Tuesday: trouble on its way;

  Wink at a worm on Wednesday: win a lucky bet;

  Throw a worm on Thursday: deserve all you get;

  Befriend a worm on Friday: look out for a letter;

  Stroke a worm on Saturday: something even better;

  See a worm on Sunday, and all the week ahead

  Worms will be wriggling inside your cosy bed.

  Weather Worms

  One for sunshine,

  Two for showers,

  Three for a downpour,

  watering the flowers.

  Four for a snowflake,

  Five for a gale,

  Six for a thunderstorm,

  lightning and hail.

  Worms on Ice

  It’s winter, and the puddles are smooth and hard with ice.

  They glisten in the sunshine, so brightly, they entice

  Humble Worm and Slightly Soiled to curl up side by side

  on one big, shiny laurel leaf: a sledge that lets them slide.

  The young worms think it’s great to skate

  and fail to see it’s growing late.

  The sun sinks lower in the sky.

  The air turns colder – snowflakes fly.

  “Oh no! My tail is frozen stiff,” cries Slightly Soiled, alarmed.

  Humble Worm is freezing, too. Can they survive unharmed?

  A sudden shadow overhead makes both worms cry, “What’s that?”

  A warm and furry feeling helps them realise – it’s a cat!

  Then, suddenly, a hot, pink sponge gives both the worms a lick.

  At once, the worms are warm enough to squirm again – and quick!

  They wriggle off their leafy sledge and squiggle off the puddle

  to tumble safely down their hole and back home for a cuddle.

  Worms in Winter

  The north wind doth blow,

  And we shall have snow,

  And what will the earthworm do then,

  poor thing?

  He’ll tunnel down deep,

  And have a long sleep,

  And keep himself warm in his hole,

  poor thing.

  Dreams in a Drought

  A worm in a drought

  digs deep till it rains

  while wonderful dreams

  fill her tiny brains:

  she rides on a rainbow,

  swims seven seas,

  gallops on mouseback

  to blackberry trees

  she zooms to the moon

  at phenomenal speed

  and parachutes home

  on a sycamore seed

  And then when the rain comes

  she wakes with a smile

  drinks deep and will sleep

  for another wee while.

  Two Little Worms

  Two little worms, all ready for bed:

  Giggly Gladys and wriggly Fred.

  One tiny cap on each little head,

  All ready to cuddle and snuggle in bed.

  The Ghost Worm

  Sir Wilberforce Worm – a gentleworm, he

  lived under the roots of his family tree.

  He was born in luxurious lawns facing south,

  with a silver-birch leaf, so they say, in
his mouth.

  On best British oak leaves each night he would dine,

  washed down with a goblet of sycamore wine.

  Sir Wilberforce Worm was a kind worm and wise,

  though now he’s long gone to squirm on in the skies

  while his wriggly descendants all blissfully boast

  that Sir Wilberforce Worm is their ancestral ghost.

  And sometimes, at midnight, on dark Halloween

  the white misty shape of a worm can be seen:

  A shadowy spectre, Sir Wilberforce, he

  haunts high leaf and low in his family tree.

  Wee Willie Wormy

  Wee Willie Wormy

  Squirms round a root,

  Upsoil and downsoil,

  In his muddy boot,

  Squirming to the surface,

  Wriggling round a rock,

  “Are the worms all underground?

  It’s past eight o’clock!”

  A Worm’s Prayer

  Before he curls up for the night

  an earthworm always prays:

  Keep me safe from hungry mole,

  from rain that floods and drowns.

  May gentle leaves be all that fall

  in reds and golds and browns.

  And whether the soil be sandy,

  or whether the soil be clay,

  may no rough stone confound my hole

  or block my squirmy way.

  Rock-a-bye Wormy

  Rock-a-bye wormy

  safe underground,

  When the dog digs

  no worm will be found.

  When the dog hides

  a big, juicy bone,

  Wormy keeps sleeping

  under a stone.

  This electronic edition published in 2014 by Bloomsbury Publishing

  Copyright © 2014 A & C Black

  Text copyright © 2014 Celia Warren

  Illustrations copyright © 2014 Sean Longcroft

  First published 2014 by A & C Black,

  an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc

  50 Bedford Square

  London WC1B 3DP

  www.bloomsbury.com

  The right of Celia Warren and Sean Longcroft to be identified as the author and illustrator of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved

  You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means (including without limitation electronic, digital, optical, mechanical, photocopying, printing, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  A CIP catalogue for this book is available from the British Library.

  eISBN: 978-1-4729-0024-1

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