Two Poems

Rural Sports

The careful insect 'midst his Works I view,
Now from the Flow'rs exhaust the fragrant Dew;
With golden Treasures load his little Thighs,
And steer his afry Journey through the Skies;
With liquid Sweets the waxen Cells distend,
While some 'gainst hostile drones their Cave defend;
Each in the Toil a proper Station bears,
And in the little Bulk a mighty soul appears.

John Gay, 1713

Yellow Legs

Vespa Velutina has arrived
She hawks, she hovers hostile at the Hive
She darts, she grabs a Honeybee or three
And rips away their Legs high on a Tree
She takes a tiny protein-rich packed Lunch
To feed her Mother’s growing Brady Bunch
And so the next Year’s wicked Plans are laid
The murd’rous Asian Hornet plies her Trade
Food for Birds you’d hope, but not this Tucker
There’s not a Creature here will eat the f***er

Jon Semple, 2024