The Beetle's Confession There's a beetle in the sand
evoking interest
plainly colored
oddly shaped
it's either a dunce of a king
or a king of a dunce
it's got six legs
upon which it creeps.

I poke it with a stick
and it grabs on
I lift the stick up in the air
and the lost bug crawls; exploring
while grasping on for dear life
looking for friendly territory.
It gives up, and, to my deepest astonishment
it holds onto the stick with its hind two legs
it stands in the air, and waves the other four
despairing; it is begging me to help
as if admitting "okay, so us insects aren't ignorant just please let me go!"
So I put the stick down
and resolved never to kill a bug again.