Some mornings now alone
The little black beetle
Of death comes running
Up out of the grass
Dancing around on the pavement
As if late for some appointment
But wait it's not a beetle
It's a mayfly green translucent
Waiting for its wings to dry
Like something out of a fairy-tale
Some evenings now
It flutters up and settles
On my knee as if to say
Come with me to eternity
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