Song of the Straight-Wings


Song of the Straight-Wings

All along the branches,
And down amongst the bines
We hear the insects chattering
The gossip of the vines:
Seems someone grassed the hoppers up,
And sprung a Springtime storm –
They even cussed the locusts low
To watch the rumours swarm.
The wetas whet their wilting wit,
And rub their wings in glee –
This really isn’t kosher,
The Jerusalems agree.
But somewhere in the undergrowth,
Striations getting shushed –
It simply isn’t cricket
For a cricket to be bushed.
Lurking there in plain sight
Are the lives the cryptids hid –
You won’t believe the racket
When you hear what Katy did !

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