Of Mantises and Men

'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