PEST FUN

Patton Pest Poetry

Homeward Bound

Be careful not to hate the moth,
It isn’t she who eats your cloth,
But only little ones of her
That lunch on tweeds and dine on furs.
Who but a jingo his heart could steel
To spray these innocents out of a meal?
My heart is mush, so come on, larvae,
My closet’s full and I’m Fred Harvey.
By Ogden Nash
BOO!

The male mosquito fills the air
With threats of eating babies rare;
His humming, like a jackal’s bark,
Harrows children in the dark;
But listen, kids, it’s all right
The male mosquito cannot bite.
Thus we compare the male mosquito
To people who – Why, here’s Benito.
By Ogden Nash
The Wasp

The wasp and all his numerous family
I look upon as major calamity.
He throws open his nest with prodigality,
But I distrust his waspitality.
By Ogden Nash
The Fly

God in His wisdom made the fly
And then forgot to tell us why.
The Termite
Some primal termite knocked on wood
And tasted it, and found it good,
And that is why your Cousin May
Fell through the parlor floor today.
By Ogden Nash
Glossina Morsitans, or, The Tsetse

A Glossina Morsitans bit rich Aunt Betsy.
Tsk, Tsk, Tsetse.
By Ogden Nash
I Happen To Know

Hark to the locusts in their shrill armadas.
Locusts aren’t locusts. Locusts are cicadas.
To seals in circuses I travel on bee lines.
Seals aren’t seals. Seals are sea lions.
I’m a buffalo hunter. Want to see my license?
Buffaloes aren’t buffaloes. Buffaloes are bisons.
I’m too old to be pedantically hocus-pocused.
I’ll stand on the buffalo, the seal and the locust.
By Ogden Nash
Creeps and Crawls

The insect world appealed to Fabre.
I find the insect world macabre.
In every hill of ants I see
A governed glimpse of what shall be,
And sense in every web contriver
Man’s predecessor and survivor.
Someday, perhaps, my citronella
Will rank with Chamberlain’s umbrella.
By Ogden Nash
Good-By, Bugs

Some insects feed on rosebuds,
And others feed on carrion.
Between them they devour the earth.
Bugs are totalitarian.
By Ogden Nash
The Ant

The ant has made himself illustrious
Through constant industry industrious.
So what?
Would you be calm and placid
If you were full of formic acid?
By Ogden Nash
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