Category: Insects

Of all the lives, if I could pick it,
I’d wish me last an autumn cricket!

by Ray Romine Friday, September 24, 1943

To you, O small black armored voice,
The frost means death–no other choice
ls offered you. But human folk,
With all their blessings, still invoke
The Gods to curse their fates, their plight,
Til all too late they see the light,–
Too late to change, too late to fight.

Your short life, then, is more than aught;
This needful lesson have you brought:
A cricket rather would I be
Than man too blind the truth to see.

by Ray Romine Friday, September 24, 1943

A matchstick for a body,
And six long jointed pegs
That point in all directions
Make him mostly arms and legs.

He is brown, and moves as slowly
As our syrup when it’s thick;
Small wonder that this fellow
Is called a “Walking-stick!

by Ray Romine Monday, January 12, 1953

A black and yellow bumblebee
Sits by me, on a weed.
It seems to me he’s neighborly,
And courteous, indeed.
And yet, I treat him with respect:
I neither touch nor shoo,
Which suits him fine, for, I suspect,
He’s glad I’m friendly too?

by Ray Romine Wednesday, March 26, 1952