The dryness of the forest is long forgotten
Months of rain have seen to it
The black scrying mirrors of the glades
Hide one mystery too many
As hordes of fuzzing mozzies
Rise relentlessly from them
To conquer the world
Their feeding frenzy puts us on the menu
For breakfast, lunch, dinner and supper
Whatever the time they are ravenous
For our hot pumping blood
A call they can't resist to
Two hands are not enough to swap them
And we are swiftly back inside
Where our untiring house spiders work full time.
Lucette C. Bailliet
All rights reserved
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