Little pesties find every
leave behind,
cracker, cookie or cat treat.
It doesn't matter,
they find it and carry it off
with a scent trail
for their brothers
to follow
and they
follow
all inline
back
and
forth
working
for
their queen.
I'd kill the queen if I could,
get right in that nest and rip off her head,
her little leggies too.
But I read, there is more than one queen
with a thousand workers for every one.
All are
foraging
working
carrying
right this
minute
and all I can do is hope the baits do what
they're disigned to do: kill queen, kill the colony.
There are no recent comments (3 older comments) - Click here to add a comment to this poem or Show more comments or Read All User Comments (3)