Written October 12th 1954 at age 59

Little worm,
You're a germ
In my apple,
So don't squirm;
You're the meanest kind of borer when you bore.

You're the least
When you feast
On my apple,
Little beast;
You are simply devastating to the core.

You are legless,
Little lout;
So you get in
By your snout;
And your appetite cries out forevermore.

You're not mean
When they're green;
All your apples have a sheen.
Are you eating in the apple I adore?

I have news
Filled with blues
If you interrupt
My chews;
I may find but half of you, and then be sore.

So let's try,
You and I,
Just to pass each other by;
Let me help you get outside my apple door.