The Policy is a symmetrical beauty.
Each facet is mirror to another. 
Fire’s sprinkled and sparking throughout.
In the center of the Policy, there’s
a violet worm.  It wriggles,
a threaded bait on a holy hook.
We’re born to strike when we see it.
It’s not food, we know.  We know
toxic to the core when we see it,
as we do with peach pits and the like.
But as with those seeds,
there’s the expectation
that it’ll grow into fruit.
That’s why we strike at the worm
in the center of the Lovely Policy.
That’s why they make the Policy
so irresistible.  We long for a fruit tree
to grow inside us and keep us
full and happy.  When the worm twitches,
we tell ourselves, “Oh, it’s coming!
I can feel it growing!  Soon, soon!”
And there’s a war, and a poverty,
and a greed outside but still
we focus on the worm,
saying, “It was so Lovely
when it was in the Policy,
surely we’ll feel the leaves and blossoms
soon, soon!”  It’s not a seed, though;
it’s a worm.  A worm that won’t become
a fruit tree, or even
a butterfly.  When it gnaws through us,
we say “next time, then…” as we fail,
and gutter out, and die.  Soon, soon
enough, the worm is lifted from us into
another Lovely Policy.  See how
it shines.  See its fire.