A bucket of water or two,
Directly under the lights,
What a snare for bugs!
Which crazily flapped and buzzed around,
The month is March;
‘It’s the buckle bugs season!’
The reason ma Thema,
Jumped from bed,
To catch those weakened without wings,
Crawling around like some ants,
Escorting their queen,
Because her first trap missed,
Also the second,
All became expectant after the first rain,
Then the swarm of brown wings,
Resurrect from the earth,
They love the lights to their doom,
Knowing little that some humans,
Wants a taste of their soft body,
A dried delicacy that melts on the tongue,
Like butter!