Bug
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Who made the world? Who made the swan, and the black bear? Who made the grasshopper? This grasshopper, I mean—the one who has flung herself out of the grass, the one who is eating sugar out of my hand, who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down—who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes. Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face. Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
—Mary Oliver
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Poem: I Refuse to Report Bugs to Their Creator
Poem: Welcoming the Season’s First Insects
Poem: On the Grasshopper and Cricket
Poem: The Mirror Does It for the Bug
Poem: The Cricket and the Grasshopper
Poem: The Prayer of the Cricket
Poem: Doc Watson on the Cicada Concert
Poem: I heard a Fly buzz - when I died - (591)
Poem: Zoophabet: Ants to Zorillas