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Willie Worm's home was an apple tree. His folks were content as worms can be. They'd laugh and wiggle, dance and squirm, But Willie was not a happy worm. Every night this worm would dream Of chocolate cake and white ice cream. But in the morning he would hear, "Come down and eat your apple, Dear." He hated apples quite a bunch, But that is what he had for lunch. At dinner time, to end each day, An apple, raw, the same old way. He asked his mom for something new, A big pot roast or maybe stew. "How about a steak or flounder? Or better yet a quarter pounder!" She said "My son, clean up you act. Just eat your food and don't talk back." He told his friends, "She made it clear, If that's the deal, I'm out of here." He dressed up in his Sunday suit And said, "I'm tired of eating fruit, I crave some meat, I need some starches." And headed for those golden arches. Willie entered with a wiggle, Which made the people point and giggle. He checked the menu, gave a squeal, Then ordered up a happy meal. They brought his food. Oh, what a sight!. He thought the fries were done just right. When through, he said, "I think I'll try A great big piece of that hot pie." He found the crust so crisp and nice With a tiny hint of tasty spice. But the goo inside's what made him grin. As it trickled down his wee worm chin. He asked the folks at his final bite, "Wow, what's inside of this delight?" The manager came by to say, "I picked those apples just today. "Don't be surprised, I wouldn't lie. You just ate an apple pie." Willie said, "How can that be? I thought that you were kiddin' me. "I ate 'em raw for every meal, In pie they're great. Wow! What a deal! I'd crawl home a happy guy. If I could bake an apple pie." The manager led him to the back, Took a little apron off a rack. Said, "This young worm here wants to try To learn to bake an apple pie." First he had to roll the dough So he could get the crust just so. He mixed the filling to begin To scoop the goop and apples in. His pie was great—they told him so. Then waved good-bye--he had to go. "Have a nice day and you come back. We'll share your next big mac attack." He headed home to the apple tree With a bag of dough and a recipe. He inched along, his hopes sky high, He'd bake his folks an apple pie. He gave a knock at their front hole. His mother answered, "Bless my Soul. Guess who's here?--It's little Willie! Welcome home, we were worried silly. "We placed an ad in the Worm Gazette. Put a 'Worm lost' spot on the internet. It's really great to have you back. Would you like an apple for a snack?" "No thanks," said Willie with a smile, "May I use the kitchen for a while?" He baked a pie--He knew he could. His family cried, "Hey, this is good." His dad said, "Son, I'll tell you true. We're tired of those raw apples, too. We want you here, please join the firm. You'll be the world's first baker worm." So Willie wears a tall white hat. The worms think he's a real cool cat. The orchard's filled with happy critters. And Willie now bakes apple fritters. Smart Willie took a situation And used his worm imagination. Gave dull, raw apples a little twist. Bakes fritters, pies and apple crisp. Sometimes when folks just can't agree They talk it over and then may see: They can turn apples into pies. That's what we call a compromise. ************************ But secretly, I'll tell you guys. Sometimes he takes one of his pies. Crawls to McDonalds, shouts, "Surprise!" And trades it for a bag of fries.
--Grandpa Tucker |