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'Twas a soft, sunny evening—I was milling about,
basking in breezes and dying to doubt—
when at once I crossed paths with a fellow of charm:
a young gentle-mantis took perch on my arm.

He asked how I was; I replied: "Tis all fine!"
Then in good cheer I repeated his line. 
At once he was nervous, and shuffled his wings.
I asked then if he was all right with all things.

He poured out his heart, so full of dark fear!
For he'd found a lady, and bought her a beer.
And tonight was to mate her, but there was a catch:
She might fancy him dinner—the poor, sorry wretch!

And then, I confess, I chuckled and sighed,
and the young gentle-mantis, he started to chide.
But I held up my hand, and said with a smirk:
"Your species has problems. Mine, too, has its quirk."

He asked in confusion just what I had meant,
and I relived all of the tears I had spent.
"Your women take only your bodies as tax;
Our women burn hearts as candles of wax!"

The mantis scoffed, said that we at least live,
and I shrugged my shoulders, for what did I give?
Better to perish while love is alive,
than drift through the years with no will to strive. 

14 August 2016

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