Sometimes, there are little things that no one pays attention to.
Like us. We’re expediently microscopic to the Larger Ones
We serve no function or benefit,
We are vermin, merely created to frighten the females, and taunt the males and cause disturbance
We’re not miracles of nature or remarkable fauna.
We represent fear and irritation.
Ignorance is bliss, but what bliss?
We keep your earth clean, though you beg to differ
We keep this world spinning on its axis
We make sure unsoiled strawberries are on your pancakes every morning
We keep trying, despite the newly squashed intimate we encounter every second on our path of prosperity
We may be bugs, but we are life.
YOU ARE READING
The Bug
PoetryStupid poem I know. No one likes bugs, but c'mon. I'm doing a nature poetry marathon so I must include them!