Into the burrow I push forward
Forward again, away from the furrow
Made by the cultivators, calling the predators
The Peregrine Falcon, I fear the most
I push forward, then forward
With front first, then back second
A new wormhole I make
And the old ones soon to shake
From seeded soil to wetland
I push forward without hands
The runaway won’t last for long
Eventually I’ll be washed away
By the distant sounding pond
And devoured by Peregrine Falcon
A true hunter with a natural flair
Of grappling me while in air
It is not fair for my limitation
One without a prolonged evolution
Like the green caterpillar
Once a larva and soon to feed on nectar
With wings in synchrony with wind
With silky skin filled with trim
Disgusting am I as I push forward
I run away and seek refuge onward
I burrow upward and finally on the surface
Of a dry land and the missing trace
Of the Peregrine Falcon anywhere
Several feet away is an almost blind lair
I minded not but soon came to mind
Out of nowhere it comes out in might
I fall victim by its godly beaks, the Peregrine Falcon!
Up and I go as it flies in the sky
It knows that I have no heart
And I know that it has a heart
Finally it hovers over the nest
With petite falcons waiting at their best
To be fed with a runaway from wormhole
A quartet like a concerto with opened mouths
Like a dark wormhole, scarier than a black hole
I am set free as I fall to sacrifice
My body ripped off thrice
I run away from wormhole
Now I run away from my own.
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