We scarcely know the way of things
As our brief lives each run their span,
How much our world of knaves and kings
Is full of [i]Coleopterans.[/i]

They bumble through the dew soaked grass,
Stout shells protect their lacy wings.
Some guard themselves with bursts of gas,
Some leap and click as if by springs.

The pretty scarab shines on tombs,
But also they protect their young
Within auxiliary wombs
In unicycles made of dung.

We think the blighty biters cute,
They spare us from their nips and stings.
We rue the holes they leave in fruit
And tender leaves the garden brings.

We rarely state their praise aloud,
Or not in haunts where angel sings,
Yet thoughts may leave one beetle-browed
On nature’s tiny tangled strings.