And there once were insects / a poem

No, I mean Insects.
They were everywhere,
like little alien life-forms right outside the door.
Walking Sticks were the largest
and they really looked like long sticks walking.
Has anyone seen one lately?
Caterpillars, colorful, furry, prickly,
barbed, horned, striped and spotted.
Daddy Long Legs – everywhere.
There were bees in flowering bushes
humming like transformers,
and they were all wild,
making honey somewhere.
So many,
I still associate the smell of certain flowers
with that electric sound of bees.
Sure I got stung, a lot,
but it never killed me.
Getting stung was just a fact of life
on a summer’s day.
And there were Writing Spiders,
literally hundreds in the field.
(Oh yeah, there were fields.)
And all kinds of jewel-encrusted dragonflies
zipping through the air.
And ants, black, red, yellow and flying,
hard-working, good citizens
of their realm.
Oh and moths,
made out of powder, or so I thought,
because every time I caught one
and held it in the round container of my hands
it would leave a smudge of powder,
white, pink or bluish-gray.
I used to go to sleep to a symphony of insects.
They tuned up as the sun was setting.
The sound was orchestral in scope
increasing and deepening
until it felt like I was being rocked to sleep
by waves of sound.
Where did they all go?
Some people call them pests.
But oh, how I cherish those memories
of being rocked to sleep
by the music of pests.


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