As I survey my habitat from under a blade of grass, I wonder where my mom could be? Then I spot her on a branch of an apple tree, she is yucking it up with spiney the spider, beside her. I yell, mom, don’t waste your time with that old bore, come, follow me. I found a nice fig tree, the fruit will be sweet in our cereal, and help your tummy, as to the toilet you may flee!
We love your back yard that upon which we trod, but, hate all those insecticides heaped upon the sod.
Mom, we are not alone, I see giant creatures bigger than you, and, me. She says; with a smile on her face, my son, we were created to be a mystery, to the higher one’s who, think, that they know it all. They say; I see, but, if they look beyond their noses, they will see us on the roses, gathering its sweetness. Although we do not toil or sow; all summer long, we store for the winter, with its deep snow.
When the cold arrives, we are warm, and, comfy inside, any knocks on our door, we must ignore, as we are the Creator’s warning words to the wise. When the April showers come again, we will appear, be careful when you lay on the lush green grass, that we don’t crawl into your ear.