The things that hatch through narrow cracks <br />are not the enemy we must believe; to see <br />them in their plenitude as opportunists who <br />have little choice, soloists out flying all alone <br />are males, they’ll die for pheromones which <br />promise paradise. Cannot find a solid source <br />for their largesse, suspect it doesn’t have a <br />cause for brains and yet they’d die for sex? <br /> <br />Mealy moths again are trying my propriety <br />I must admit I do not know what motivates <br />the little twits; all processed grain is double <br />sealed and yet they breed. I freeze the items <br />where their signature is clear, feed it to the <br />ravenous and stay too wit, ashamedly naive <br />© 22 September 2009, I. D. Carswell<br /><br />Ivan Donn Carswell<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/too-wit/
