To the Mosquito

With you I want to have a word, Thou immor(t)al bird! No angry generation Can tread thee down: Thou wast not born for death. Thou art indeed a riddle on earth. People seem to like other creatures But not you, your function or features: You have wings, but are not called a bird. You can sing, yet not called a songbird! You have regaled Thoreau With your requiem, though. You always have the better of the human, Outwitting the Crown of creation! One of the cleverest of creatures are you, And the prototype, it’s true, Of the dinosaur and brontosaurus extinct And an expert in blitzkrieg by instinct. You can make human life on earth a hell And can sometimes sound our death knell! You are not at all guilty Of the undistributed-middle! Is it because you thus diligently Go forth and multiply, That God loves you so amply? And made you his analogue and alter ego? Omnipresent, omnipotent and omniscient, as you know? And wanted you on the Voyage, too, Even though Noah, I'm told, was against i? Above all, you are a teacher great. For, you teach us all a lesson best: Survival of the fittest! Little bird, to you I bow: Never can I forget or forgive you, though! --The Jester