Crash,
Your mention of worms called to mind a long forgotten favorite poem. I don't do poetry, mostly it sails right over my head, but this piece from e.e. Cummings sticks in mind:
Nobody loses all the time
i had an uncle named Sol who was a born failure and
nearly everybody said he should have gone into vaudeville
perhaps my Uncle Sol could sing McCann
He Was A Diver on Xmas Eve like Hell itself
which may or may not account for the fact that my Uncle
Sol indulged in that possibly most inexcusable of all
to use a highfalootin phrase luxuries that is or to wit
farming and be it needlessly added
my Uncle Sol's farm failed because of the chickens
ate the vegetables so my Uncle Sol had a chicken farm
til the skunks ate the chickens when
my Uncle Sol had a skunk farm but the skunks caught cold and died
and so my Uncle Sol imitated the skunks in a subtle manner
by drowning himself in the watertank
but somebody who'd given my Uncle Sol a Victor Victrola
and records while he lived presented to him
upon the auspicious occasion of his decease a scrumptious not to mention
splendiferous funeral with tall boys in black gloves and flowers and everything
I remember we all cried like the Missouri when my Uncle Sol's coffin lurched
because somebody pressed a button
and down went my Uncle Sol
and started a worm farm