The Word Cloud

Bluebottle

Why do you taunt me so?

Unclean fiend,

your buzz curdles my blood.

Scavenger of bins,

fermented fruit  your dish.

You hover  like a helicopter.

Miniature alien

on the circumference of my plate.

No other insect

repulses my belly like you.

Hard to imagine

you are in the category

of  dragon fly

and  Cabbage White.

A scarab makes a stunning brooch

for an Egyptian lady,

an ant

petrified in amber

Has its charm.

But you....

spoil expensive garden parites

on Kensington lawns.

No  lepidopterist would have you,

in a frame above their hearth.

The only one to chase you

is  the chef with Chaindrite can.

The waitress,

Or perhaps the dustbin man.

Blinked of pony’s lashes,

flicked by tails,

swatted by Oxford Times,

The Mail.

 
Who designed a thing

So impossible to love?