Bugs

Hopping o'er the ground
going on their way,
always out at night
but seldom seen by day,
leaping from a rose,
clinging to a tree -
but those little things
best not cling to me;
gliding through the air
on transparent wings,
tiny little bugs -
creepy, crawly things.

© 2001 Fay Herridge


Wonders of Life

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