After reading this essay I began singing the childhood rhyme, "When ever you see a hearse go by you will be the next to die. The worms go in the worms go out, the worms play pinochle up your snout". I live across from a cemetery. Hearses go by daily. This little verse transported me back to being six years old and playing jacks on the front porch. I easily can see how Liza Dalby also was transported and how the simple phrase "worms come forth" can lead one on a meandering path.
4 years ago