A Feast For Mosquitoes
A Feast for Mosquitoes
Picking peas in the garden,
My bare forearms a feast for mosquitoes.
With a dozen bites or more,
I think Mother Nature wrote the book
On the Art of War.
Each individual bite
Has its own level of pain.
And each individual bite
I had given a name.
From the pain in my forearms
I would swear mosquitoes have teeth.
My benefactors garden,
Whose home in which I stay.
He could not help me today,
unfortunately has to many years
of being old and gray.
He felt no pain as my forearms
Became a feast for mosquitoes.
My benefactor got his garden peas,
And the mosquitoes did not rest,
Until they got their pound of flesh.
Each individual bite had its own level of pain.
With each individual bite
I spoke my benefactors name.
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