The Ballad of the Rhymin’ Worm
Author’s Note: Many readers of the print edition have asked me why I didn’t include the “Ballad of the Rhymin' Worm” in the book. The answer’s pretty simple: there’s not much excuse for publishing bad poetry. But, since this is an website, what follows is the complete poem in all its awful glory. The place names mostly refer to shelters and mountains. There’s a new verse for each day I’m on the trail, and the numbers refer to how many days I’d been on the trail. On days that I took time off, I repeated the ballad’s refrain. So, with no further ado, “The Ballad of the Rhymin’ Worm.”
The Worm went south to Springer Mt.
burning all his bridges,
his next six months a series of
Appalachian ridges.
1 . He bid goodbye to spouse and dog
(and beer and Coca-Cola)
and picked his way to the first blaze
from Amicalola.
2. At Nimblewell the blisters bit
which made him feel like shouting,
and Rangers in their camo paint
ambushed him at Hawk Mountain.
3. The April sun was sweltering;
he humped up Sassafrass,
and when he reached the gap at Gooch
the AT'd kicked his ass.
4. The Trail was packed with Scouts and dads
earning badges walking.
At night the hollows of the hills
echoed with their talking.
5. Blood Mountain Shelter was a pit
despite the panoramas;
"Bigfoot" in his gorilla mask
was clowning for the cameras.
6. Recuperation was the word
host'ling at Wa-la-si-Yi;
then camping up on Wildcat Ridge
(Whitley Shelter was a sty).
7. Eleven miles from Hogpen Gap
sharing shelter with the "Loon,"
he spent a windy, chilly night
with stars, [beat] comet, and new moon.
8. The view at Tray Mount was superb:
impossible to match,
till Ga-ry and Len-nie's welcome
at [beat] the Blueberry Patch
(Day off, Hiwassee GA)
The Worm went south to Springer Mount
burning all his bridges
His next six months a series of
Appalachian Ridges.
10. After a Hiawassee Day--
rest and relaxation--
'twas onward Carolina-way
(to the Worm's home station)
11. The climb from Bly Gap was a grunt;
wet, [beat] cold [beat] one vast hurt.
The shelter crowd soon warmed him, with
"Singing Bear" [beat] in concert.
12. The view from Standing Indian
was worth the whipping breeze,
which heralded at Carter Gap
a twenty degree freeze.
13. He pushed and pushed to Rainbow Springs
until his feet were sore.
The bunkhouse was a rowdy scene,
its woodstove made to roar.
14. A horrid call from work reached out
to drag him back this day.
He shook his head and packed his pack
and turned and hiked away.
15. Departing Silers in the sun
to see how far he'd go,
he stopped at Cold Spring, waking to
a blanketing of snow.
16. All downhill to Rufus Morgan
from Nantahala Balds
dreaming of Wesser restaurants'
coffee so hot it scalds.
17. Sardined into a shelter box
one mile from N.O.C.,
the night passed quick, the morning came;
to meet his love went he.
(two days off—Wesser NC)
The Worm went South to Springer Mount
burning all his bridges
his next six months a series of
Appalachian ridges.
19 . Recov’ring from too many beers
the hikers staggered north;
three thousand feet of climbing was
about all they were worth.
20. Early morning thunder waked him
at Locust Cove Gap.
A rainy morning hiking on;
a short noon shelter nap.
21. Wind, dark clouds and muddy trails
bothered him all day,
but rain held off till Cable Gap
where he sheltered safe away.
22. Fontana's Hilton was a treat
no mouse or skunk came near,
but missed connections, lousy rain
made the next day drear.
(Day off, Fontana Dam)
The Worm went South to Springer Mount,
burning all his bridges;
his next six months a series of
Appalachian ridges.
24. Up Shuck-stack to the Smoky Mounts,
recov'ring from a cold,
he spent the night at Mollie's Field:
a ten-mile day, all told.
25. The hike to Derricks Knob looked fun:
the Smokies? Pretty easy!
(Until he stumbled into camp,
exhausted, damp, and greasy.)
26. Over the hump of Clingman's Dome
as crummy weather neared--
the views were chill, then rain closed in,
the weather all had feared.
27. Mount Collins Shelter was a mess:
he feared that he would drown,
so he slogged five miles to Newfound Gap
and hitched a ride to town.
28. A rainy morn in Gatlinburg,
a wet day on the trail
an afternoon of boot-deep mud,
a night of storm and hail.
29. They climbed uphill out of the mist
and walked the ridge all day;
the thirteen miles to Cosby Knob,
a rocky, lovely way.
30. Mountain Mama's burgers beckon
so down the hill they roll.
Goodbye to Don and "Java Joe"
(the AT takes its toll).
31. To Max Patch Bald from Davenport
he hiked his weary way
hoping for his Hot Springs mail
by morning Saturday.
32. The Deer Park Shelter welcomed him
with cracks between the slats.
He dined on mac as storms blew in,
and swept away the gnats.
33. He hustled into Hot Springs next
(his check was in the mail),
but banks are closed on Saturdays--
the plan was doomed to fail.
34. Up Lovers Leap he climbed from town
his legs, they felt like lead;
the hostel stay had been too brief
to help him clear his head.
35. The Smokies quagmire came to mind
atop Bearwallow Gap;
once more he found himself bogged down
knee deep in muck and crap.
36. He stumbled up to Hogback Ridge
dehydrated and squiggly;
"Bigfoot" was there, and "Doobie Bros."
and so was Señor Wiggly.
37. The mind, it said, "Press onward, son!"
The body said, "you lie!"
He stayed on at Bald Mountain and
ate strawberry pie.
38. To Erwin-town from Bald Mountain
he bumbled, worry-free,
then "Kampfire" drove him one last mile
to tent at N.C.G.
39. Laundry! Groceries! All you can eat!
The "town-suck" had its way.
The measly mile from bridge to camp
was all he walked that day.
40. Unaka Mountain's hemlock crest
turned daylight into night:
of all the things the Worm had seen,
the least expected sight.
41. He stepped and stumbled all day long
aspiring to Roan Mount,
but fin’ly crashed at the Gap of Ash
his toes too tired to count.
42. The views were fine from Roan and balds,
beneath a hazy sun,
though rocky, rutted, rooty trails
made the hike no fun.
43. The Worm's "slackpack" to Dennis Cove
left feet and calves a-sore-a.
But fire and food and hostlery
awaited at "Kincorra."
(Day off, Kincorra Hostel, Dennis Cove, TN)
The Worm went South to Springer Mount,
burning all his bridges;
his next six months a series of
Appalachian Ridges.
45. Through Laurel Gorge and up Pond Mount.
Damascus? Three days short.
Worm's off the trail now, visiting home.
Back on next week, old sport.
(Home for the weekend)
The Worm went South to Springer Mount,
burning all his bridges;
his next six months a series of
Appalachian Ridges.
48. From 301 a rested Worm
(now three days off the Trail)
returned to find it just as hard
(he thought his feets would fail).
49. At Vandeventer he delayed
hoping rain would pass
but then he hiked, and slipped, and fell
and landed on his ass.
50. From Double Spring he double-timed:
Damascus for the night;
he was so busy hurrying
he never saw the light.
51. He left at noon, his spirits high
(and his pack weight way down!),
but hitch-hiked back from six miles out
(forgot his pants in town).
52. Out of Damascus one more time
he crept upon the Creeper
(there were two pathways out, you see,
but one of them was steeper).
53. He braved the crowds at Lost Mountain
out for Memor’yul Day
and met a ride at Elk Garden
that whisked him clean away
(off trail -- Memorial Day)
The Worm went South to Springer Mount,
burning all his bridges;
his next six months a series of
Appalachian Ridges.
55. Back on the Trail, for good this time,
the rain came pelting down.
Four drear-y miles to Thomas Knob
the price of beds in town.
56. The Highlands were fogged in all day
and so he skipped the loop,
arriving in at Raccoon Branch
with "Shaman" and his group.
57. The bear was grubbing near a stump
when Rhymin' Worm espied him.
Who startled whom? Each hurried off
with nervous looks beside him.
58. From sublime to ri-diculous
(to Atkins from Mt. Rogers)
the highland trekkers sound found that
they'd become cow-pie dodgers.
59. Valley hopping fourteen miles
from Grose-close on to Knot Maul,
he hoped his throbbing shin would mend
and his arches wouldn't fall.
60. On muddy trails to Chestnut Knob
his boots they leaked like sieves;
that night the rain came rattling down
like pebbles on the eaves.
61. The walk to Jenkins looked a breeze,
but soon began to harden;
the way was snake-beset! But that
is natural for the Garden.
62. He hiked in Tee-vas through Wolf Creek
before the inundation
then took a Bland day off for rest
and recuperation.
(Day off, Bland)
The Worm went South to Springer Mount,
burning all his bridges;
his next six months a series of
Appalachian Ridges.
64. His ankle healed, he went for Trent's
despite gray clouds that rolled;
the grass was green there, sun came out,
late afternoon turned gold.
65. A long slow day to Sugar Run
to stay with Tillie Wood,
whose floors were hard and loft was cold;
but breakfast sure was good!
66. He re-supplied and then skipped town
exhausting every erg.
As Bogart said to Ingrid, [beat]"We'll
always have Paris, Berg."
67. The Worm woke feeling low this day
so was it colds or flus?
Most likely diagnosis was:
them dread Virginia Blues.
68. Both Pine Swamp Branch and Yogi Cat
he left twelve miles behind,
and met again "St. Louis Dan"
(a hod man's good to find).
69. Six rainy miles he walked before
Fine’ly bailing out,
but met again some more old friends--
"Jiggs" and "Kilgore Trout."
70. His feet complained at Sinking Creek
with ev’ry step he planted;
that night he saw the reason why:
both of them were slanted.
71. Cove Mountain Rocks and Dragon's teeth
were more than he could take.
He camped behind Catawba Gro.
and savored every ache.
72. The clouds and rain he walked through were
the price he had to pay
for views from up on Tinker Cliffs
that took the breath away.
73. A long wet cold Spring slid in-to
warm Summer like a snail.
And just in time! His lightweight bag
was in the Troutville mail.
(Day off, Troutville, VA)
The Worm went South to Springer Mount,
burning all his bridges;
his next six months a series of
Appalachian Ridges.
75. Cleaned up and stuffed and resupplied,
they dropped him off at three;
he groaned uphill to Fullhart Knob
bereft of energy.
76. New boots and blisters witched his feet
with spells both black and blue.
But Merlyn's sodas at Boblett's Gap
applied Trail magic too.
77. Dehydrated and feeling low
at Bryant Ridge's hall,
a nonstop-talking day hiker
drove him up the wall.
78. On Apple Orchard thunder rolled
and rain came down in rills.
He hunkered down at Thunder Ridge
with headache and the chills.
79. At last the "dark side" had its way:
he turned to yellow blazing;
his guts were rumbling like a drum
and how his head was crazing.
80. Two nights at Wildwood Campground spent,
six meals at Parkway Diner,
he left on Saturday improved
but wished he felt still finer.
81. From Punchbowl crossing he walked north
down to the swimming holes,
and then uphill to Cow Camp Gap
where gnats snacked on his soles.
82. The talk was all of Never-land,
and what they'd do in town.
The Worm confessed sins to The Priest
and laid his body down.
83. Three Ridges Mountain wasn't fun
for all its white blaze virtue.
The trail seemed meant to trip you up,
the rocks were there to hurt you.
84. Neverland Hostel, it was said,
remained an AT must.
He thought it past its glory days,
now giving in to Rust.
85. New socks and maps in Waynesboro
and camping at the "Y";
a horrid meal of Chinese food
made him think he'd die.
86. Into the Shenandoah Park
he hiked an easy day.
He'd lost his shirt and burnt his back
by his Calf Mountain stay.
87. He made his way to Riprap Rocks
to meet his love again;
dinner in town, the Batman flick,
made him remember when.
88. Eight tents per lot--they bent the rules
(no ranger made a call);
'twas better to have Loft and left
than never Loft at all.
89. All fourteen miles to Hightop Hut
the trail was rich with deer;
rain was threat’ning all day long
after a week of clear.
90. He staggered in to Big Meadows
too late to make the meal;
his twenty miles of soggy slog
left him unfit to feel.
91. Breaking a fast at one café
and lunching at another--
his slackpack to Pass Mountain Hut
fed him like a mother.
92. Just thirteen miles to Gravel Springs--
at last! an easy day!
The deer were many and he saw
a bobcat on the way.
93. No fireworks when he left the Park,
and cleaned up in Front Royal;
the trail had emptied out to view
the Washington turmoil.
94. The Shenandoah's hiking waves
had left him slightly see-sick;
north of the Park he floated where
the roofs are ge-o-dees-ic.
95. The “pud” highway to the Bear's Den
(en route to Harpers Ferry)
was worth it due to greetings there
by Messers Ben & Jerry.
96. His feet were sore and so he stopped
at Blackburn for the night;
spaghetti and a free soda
made everything seem right.
97. Two weeks behind and losing time
he came to Harpers Ferry;
another five days off the trail--
the prospect was quite scary.
(home to NC for family reasons)
The Worm went South to Springer Mount,
burning all his bridges;
his next six months a series of
Appalachian Ridges.
102. The ranks of hikers "off the trail"
ballooned at Harpers Ferry.
Both strong and weak, and old and young:
the implication scary.
103. From Dahlgren Campground, 18 miles
in hundred-degree weather
left the Rhymin' Worm dried out, like
cracked and brittle leather.
104. "Too hot to hoot" was the complaint
of palindromic owls.
Too hot to hike! A p.m. nap
did wonders for his scowls.
105. From Tumbling Run, so neatly kept,
to mid-day pizza gorging,
to Quarry Gap (another gem)
the Worm kept onward forging.
106. He spent his birthday on the trail
(that's number thirty-nine)
with visions of an ice-cream feast
on which he planned to dine.
107, From hostel hell at P.G.F.,
to Boiling Spring-zes' bridge,
hello to Allegheny land,
Good-bye to the Blue Ridge.
108. From rocks to valleys, the terrain,
in Pennsylvania varies;
he walked across the Cumberland
picking ripe raspberries.
109. He said goodbye in Boiling Springs
to Earl and his Boy Scouts,
then Darlington to Duncannon
to meet the Doyle's dropouts.
110. "Bigfoot" was there, as was "D-Bear"
with "Icebox" -- Worm made four--
four of the eight who plugged Neels Gap
only four months before.
111. The news: 'tween Peters Mountain and Rausch Gap
a bear stole Bigfoot's pack.
Despite hard rain, Worm spent the miles
looking behind his back.
112. The cold rain made him sluggish, and
his gear was soggy too,
so he trundled on a mere three miles
to the hostel bla-zed "bleu."
113. "Them's my rocks," said William Penn.
"How d'ya like 'em now, boy?
You needn't be from Texas, see?
to be a talus cowboy."
114. A rusty well at 501
had set his heart a-burning,
so when he stopped at Eagle's Nest
his stomach was a-churning.
115. Descending into Clinton-Port,
the way was steep and rocky.
All night the trucks on 61
were playing highway hockey.
116. He struggled over rocks and stones
ascendng to the Pinnacle;
the smooth road down to Eckville House
made him somewhat less cynical.
117. Trail bikes and trash, a nude hiker
and graying tourist folk--
trammeled in by suburban sprawl
"wilderness" was a joke.
118. His biggest day--two dozen miles--
plus scrambling out of Lee-high:
he pushed towards the Water Gap
to bid P.A. "goodbye."
119. The walk down to the Delaware
convinced him that "rocks suck."
Thank heaven for the food and folks
at the church pot-luck!
(Day off, Delaware Water Gap, PA)
The Worm went South to Springer Mount,
burning all his bridges;
his next six months a series of
Appalachian Ridges.
121. His best "Trail Magic" of the hike
awaited at Mohican--
the AMC's Delaware group
stuffed him till he was leakin'.
122. Those fourteen miles to Brink Shelter
were rocky, hot and slow,
until a p.m. thunderstorm
soaked him head to toe.
123. He shaked (and baked) to Worthington's
where donuts were still warm,
then to High Point Shelter and
a drizzling summer storm.
124. Descending to the Walkill Flats--
a sea of birds and bushes --
then over Pochunk to an inn,
he slowly northward pushes.
125. Like a slug (engorged on too much fruit)
he crept from Heaven Hill
to Waywayanda: just ten miles,
but he had hiked his fill.
126. The ridges sprouted skyscrapers
just east of Prospect Rock;
his Empire State traverse began
with this scenic shock.
127. The deer complained at Mombasha,
snorting through the night,
then to Brien [beat] through Harriman
fighting the rock fight.
128. He bottomed out at Bear Mountain
feeling tired and hairy.
The goodly Graymoor friars offered
food and sanctuary.
129. Northeast to R.P.H. he trudged,
all motivation shot;
"Trip" wobbled in near midnight, buzzed
with Trail Magic he'd got.
130. A pizza break at 52
improved his hiking stroke.
He pushed on to West Dover Road
to see the ancient oak.
131. Just south of Kent his boots gave out.
He patched them up with duct tape.
With new shoes due in four more days
Tee-vas were his last escape.
132. Hooked on Hous-a-tonics, [beat] and soaked
by rain, to Kent he fled--
seduced by laundry, dinner and
a comfortable bed.
133. Mosquito swarms at Pine Swamp Brook
soon chased him to his tent;
they sucked him dry when nature called
no matter how fast he went.
134. A maildrop in Sals-bury-town
brought him food and shoes,
so he could stop replaying those
"Delamination Blues."
(day off, Salisbury area)
The Worm went South to Springer Mount,
burning all his bridges;
his next six months a series of
Appalachian Ridges.
136. On Race Mountain the rain came down
obscuring the Taconics.
He slipped on rocks three times that day.
So who needs high colonics?
137. Great Barrington's small outfitter
provided a new watch--
a month of timeless travel was
a-bout all he could notch.
138. To Goose Pond from Len-ard Lean-to,
a twenty-one mile day--
a grungy hut and kooky host
took something from the stay.
139. The hike was flat to Kay Wood's place,
'cross swampy mountain bogs:
no deer or bear or coyotes,
but plenty of tree frogs.
140. He hit both Dalton and cheese-town,
for a restaurant [beat] food-fest,
and stayed in Mary's rec room
for a good Catholic rest.
141. Greylock was gray, with foggy hair,
and crowds upon the top.
He pushed on through to Sherman's Brook;
that night it rained non-stop.
142. Into the Ben & Jerry's state
and on to Bennington,
to meet an old friend at her home:
next day he would walk on.
143. Glastonbury's views were vast,
air cool with autumn's hoar;
he slipped down rocky steps and watched
the moon rise at Kid Gore.
144,. Up Stratton Mountain with no skis
he skipped the warming hut;
at Stratton Pond a section hike-r
psalmed until his eyes shut.
145. Into the outlet town he hitched
looking for some healing;
the prospect of a day off there
gave him a good feeling.
(Day off, Episcopal church hostel in Manchester Center)
The Worm went South to Springer Mount,
burning all his bridges;
his next six months a series of
Appalachian Ridges.
147. Bromley and Peru were steep,
the campsite charged a fee,
the caretaker was absent, though--
it rained, but Worm stayed free.
148. "Mossman," "Tonic," "Broken Arrow,"
hiked with him to Greenwall;
at Little Rock Pond cliff jumpers splashed,
then rain poured on them all.
149. Up Killington to Guv Clement
he felt all out of kilter;
he found a Pepsi at the camp
but lost his water filter.
150. The Guinness at the Long Trail Inn
was chilled exactly right;
they camped in woods next to Kent Pond;
it rained again that night.
151. The next day had its ups and downs,
though they weren't in a hurry;
those fifteen miles were plenty, though,
before they reached Win-tur-ee.
152. Quinn the Steeplejack took them in
and slacked them to West Hartford;
a beer run into Woodstock and
a dry barn when the rain poured.
153. They slacked again to Hanover
(a short cruise into town);
"Kadiddle's" feast was at Dan Quinn's--
'twas late 'for all lay down.
154. A sluggish morning at the barn--
their ride left after noon:
Worm left the others in H-town
and walked out none too soon.
155. The Whites were in the offing as
he hiked to Trapper John,
recovering from a chilly night
(his summer gear still on).
156. Dartmouth freshmen filled the trails
enroute to Hex-a-cub-a;
packed in with rowdy kids, he felt
like sardines in a tuba.
157. He met the southbound “Kilgore Trout”
just north of Glencliff, late.
They camped at pondside, talked at length,
to bring each up to date.
158. Into the Whites, with winter gear,
he humped up Moo-sil-aw-kee;
the views were fine at Beaver Brook
although the way was rocky.
159. Over Mount Wolf he slopped and was
quite glad when it was done,
then scrambled over Kinsman Ridge:
exhilarating fun.
160. A five-mile rock hop to the Flume
from Kinsman Pond he took,
then into town to resupply
and clean his grimy look.
161. The bouquet left for "Gator Boy"
froze up on Lafayette,
whose peak he never would ascend--
the wind was sighing yet.
162. Mist and rain on Garfield Ridge
made for a soggy night.
He moose-bog walked to Ethan Pond
in afternoon sunlight.
163. Mizpah Hut was packed brim-full,
no "work for stay" to get;
he tented at the Naumann Camp
and wound up getting wet.
164. Worm spent the next day scram-ble-ing
on Pres-i-den-tial rocks;
the views were more inspiring
than [beat] Bigfoot's holy socks.
165. At Pinkham Notch the lunchtime game
was "stuff-your-face-real-fast,"
then scramble over Wildcat Ridge
to Carter Notch at last.
166. He left the Whites by blazing blue
down into Greater Gorham,
where hikers had a paradise
and Bruno to deplore 'em.
(Day off, Gorham, NH)
The Worm went South to Springer Mount,
burning all his bridges;
his next six months a series of
Appalachian Ridges.
168. He slackpacked south to town again
inspired by bearlike Bruce;
Mahoosuc miles weren't easy, though,
nor did he see a moose.
169. The famous Notch and Arm of the
Ma-hoo-sucs left him bloody;
in Maine at last, he crashed at Speck,
too tired to read or study.
170. The rain and wind from Can-a-da
left him wet and cold--
sev-en miles to Baldpate lean-to
all that he could hold.
171. Up on Baldpate the ice and sleet
were all that he could handle;
he hitched to Andover to find
a bed & breakfast candle.
172. A slackpack day improved his legs
but didn't help his mood:
back to Pine Ellis for more sleep
and more An-do-ver food.
173. Worm slacked again o-ver Old Blue,
but all he saw was gray,
then hitchhiked into Oquossoc
('bout freezing on the way).
174. One last slack day, south thirteen miles
from 4 to 17;
he lost his cam-ra with the film
of the three moose he'd seen.
175. Bur-den’d again but much refreshed
he tackled Saddleback,
where "Mile-High Mike" (once off the Trail)
was hiking south with pack.
176. From Crocker's Cirque to Horn Pond Camp
he stumbled, slipped, and fell;
despite good wea-ther, his Maine hike
was still a little hell.
177. Across the Bigelows he saw,
far in the haze, Katahdin--
reminding him he neared the end
of six months' steady plodding.
178. The rainy way to Pierce Pond was
unrelenting drear-y,
but it was flat! And Monson neared!
That made him feel more cheery.
179. His fording of the Kennebec
was by canoe (not wade-y);
he camped at Pleasant Pond but missed
the fabled Cookie Lady.
180. 'Cross Moxie Bald in snow flurries
he braved a cold Maine breeze;
at the esker near Bald Mountain Stream
he camped beneath dead trees.
181. His seventh month on the A.T.
and he walked into Monson,
and dinner at the Pie Lady's
(real meatloaf! [beat] not Swanson).
(Day off at Shaw's Boarding House, Monson, ME)
The Worm went South to Springer Mount,
burning all his bridges;
his next six months a series of
Appalachian Ridges.
183. En-ter-ing the Hundred Miles
Worm’s backpack weighed a ton.
He'd constantly remind himself
that he was having fun.
184. Over the Barren Chairback range
the shelters were quite crowded,
but worse, the weather was still cold,
Katahdin's skies were clouded.
185. Worm saw "The Greatest Mountain" late
while on Gulf Hagas Hill;
at Tappan Campsite winds blew fierce--
his solitude was chill.
186. With "Numb" and "Stoutheart" and "Not Yet"
he rounded White Cap's bald
to see Katahdin's splendor and
the long walk's end, which called.
187. Un-der blue skies, through dazzling leaves
they sprinted through the lowlands
and camped by Nah-ma-tan-ka Lake
upon the gravel shore sands.
188. Gray skies a-gain by Rainbow Lake
which brooded clear and deep.
Just one more trail day waited them--
the loons sang them to sleep.
189. "In-jun Summer" made them sweat
the day's walk in the park.
No one slept well that night: [beat] they lay
there anxious in the dark.
[And finally, Day 190—the hike up Katahdin]
Then Saturday dawned clear and cold:
the end of the endeavor.
He reached the peak with bloody knees,
but he could see forever.
The Worm went South to Springer Mount,
burning all his bridges;
his next six months a series of
Appalachian Ridges.