OUR GARDEN

KENT

MAY 11 2008

Oh irritating,  reviled winged demon,  vilified and frowned upon,  so untroubled by these futile swatting hands,  as he follows in close formation the trajectory of his peers to the spoils and victuals of a rotting larder.

Can it really have been just a week passed,  since his finely formed and intricately armoured body was laid low,  a repulsive grub like monstrocity,  devoid of limbs,  nor wings,  nor eyes,  hidden from the world within the rotting confines of some poor animals corpse.

There is beauty,  rich,  abundant in those gargantuan eyes,  those petal like wings,  those legs which rub like tinder sticks,  but no one sees,  nor cares to look.

Sometimes he wishes he was born decorated with hoops of gold and black,  and portly bodied,   for at least the bees are loved by all and sundry.   Nose diving into a festering mass of patio gloop,   he feels misunderstood,  abused,  unloved,  amidst headline crimes of spreading disease and germs,  his charms go unnoticed, it seems to him.

These fickle humans simply choose not to understand his place in Mother Natures plan.   He cares not,  regurgetating as he feeds,  he will carry on regardless.   Adoration is not all it's cracked up to be!