Mayfly Martyrs
Such an ethereal beauty.
Petite in size but large on life.
One would not expect its duty
is solely for procreation.
Yes, just this one, and nothing more,
certainty is its life’s station.
Swarming thick as oozing slurries,
males hover above clear water.
Intrigued, the young female hurries.
Emerging the gray mass, nightmarish,
lays her eggs, then crumples lifeless.
The males sail to land and perish.
The beauty – a perfect cycle –
Perfect in the frantic frenzy,
the primal sinless spiral.
The process an unforgiving
two-year metamorphosis for
one day of long, lusty living.
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