On Ingratitude

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I saw a beetle on his back today,
His legs all in the air.
And, as I had no urgent needs,
I stopped to stand and stare.
All blue-y black and sleek was he,
With six black legs extended.
It seemed he'd tripped on a crack
In a sidewalk, long untended.
This beetle was not all alone;
His plight brought in a crowd
Of black ants and one pink worm;
They gathered all around.
The beetle waved imploringly;
He needed their assist.
But, soon, they all had headed off
With appointments they could not miss.
So now alone and pitiful,
With an attitude of resign,
He ceased to wave his legs around,
And sadly did recline.
I knelt and watched that beetle,
And wondered at his strife.
I thought about his pet aphid,
His children and his wife.
I wondered if they missed him,
If he was late returning home,
If they had any idea what he was here,
Lying helpless and alone.
I wondered how he'd ever get
On his feet and on his way,
Back home, with his wife and kids
He seemed resigned to stay.
I pitied this poor beetle,
With no friends to help him stand,
So I decided to befriend him,
And offered him my hand.
He held tightly to my finger
As I raised him off the ground,
And smiled at my good deed,
And made to set him back down.
I felt to well-accomplished;
I'd saved him from a trap.
Until I saw, to my disgust,
That, on my hand, he'd crapped.
What ingratitude could this be?
I recoiled in dismay.
And flung him as hard as I could,
And continued with my day.





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