A worm was feeling rather low,
Life’s journey seemed to move too slow.
An education would put things right,
A brighter future loomed in sight…
‘The Hand of Fate sometimes conspires
To thwart ambition’s blind desires ‘.
He would become –before long last,
A worm of quite superior cast…
His studies done he felt quite proud,
Then, fell into the River Stroud.
A trout devoured him for its lunch,
Who was well known to be a dunce…
Though we walk the Groves of Academe,
Our futures unfold like a dream.
The worm was always top of class,
And what became of him, alas…