Bugs and Rain

Lia Zheng


A fat drop falls, preceding the sky’s cry.

The snail is perched on big, green leaves when he

First feels the coming storm. Slides down to warn

The others. But they neither hear nor care. 

A caterpillar’s the only one who

Crawls back inside and waits the rain to pass.

The bumblebee—enraged and fueled with fire,

Flies miles to sting the fly: “It’s all your fault!”

And both dropped limp, two lost before the pour.

Antennae raised, the snail then begs the bugs 

To find some shelter. He’s ignored, again.

The cockroaches, pride-filled, remain outside.

And then the  rain comes storming down—it wash’s

Both roaches, snails, alike, down the dark drain.

But underground, the colonies of ants 

Will scramble as one unit, digging holes,

Protecting larvae from the harsh, cold wind.

Close up above, the spider weaves in rain

And thunder. Falls from sky to dirt are not

Absent of pain, yet up she climbs once more.

It seems like years before the gentle blue 

Appears again. The buds are bloomed in full.

Birds chirp once more, with buoyancy anew.

In spring the grainy cobweb stands in whole,

Despite the absence of its spider mom. 

Emerging out from it’s contained cocoon,

A butterfly rests on the soft string-web. 

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