Digging a pit as one must, as they say.
I seek in the earth a solace today.

A thrust and a cut — and a worm gives a start:
It trembles below me, breaking my heart.

My spade cuts him through — and a miracle, see:
The worm divided — becomes two, becomes three.

I'm cutting again: they are four, they are five —
Was it I who created all of those lives?

Then the sun breaks through my darkest mood
And new hope makes me proud and firm:

If a worm will never succumb to the cut,
Can you say you are less than a worm?

May 22, 1942