The Worm and The Vine

Clinging to a fiendish vine,

It squirmed to save a fall,

Last sip of torrential wine,

It flexed and tried to crawl.

Trying to get a grip

As death smiled discretely,

A slender twig warped and nipped

Around its fragile entity;

One twitch followed by another,

In vain; the hunter hurried,

A battle lost but a fight not,

The final strike now readied:

Struck upon the worm,

A whip of nature unforgiving,

The vine had its meal,

Now a rhapsody at your bidding.