Learn more about other poetry terms

BUGS IN HEAVEN? Will there be butterflies in heaven I should like to see them there With all their gorgeous colors
Oh to be the wind  blowing so gently Oh to be the strawberry  Red and scrumptious  Oh to be... wait The bumblebee?  I don't know about this.... well, if you say so. 
I am a wimp, I know it's true. I'm more afraid of bugs than you. There are many things I'd rather do Than go near a bug and kill it too. I'd rather step in fresh dog poo.
Surrounded by natural beauty, God’s greatest creation… In the absence of urban ruckus and cacophony… Crickets lull us to sleep, whippoorwills herald the dawn
They say getting out of your shell cheers you up. They say it's good for you. But I don't know. What if I’m not a turtle. I'm a roly poly.
Small little firefly glowing like a light, if you watching it fly straight into the night, never try to blink of look another way, of the small little firefly will have seemed to've flown away
One Thanksgiving his mother told me this story About how as a child he used to catch bugs  He loved them  He would run around the yard scooping them into a little mesh box
I'm screaming He's here He's there He's everywhere I can't get rid of him No matter what I do I've tried killing him It just won't do Nowhere to go Holy shit He's here
Let’s give a moment of silence for the tomato-red ladybug, Who reminds us that ambling 
I feel, A special kind of green today.  Blue's just too wholesome, 
There's something about you that makes me tick      That weird way you move makes me itch  The way you eat even makes me sick      The thing is you really think your slick Then you find a way to make you stick 
Browning purple plum Flies are buzzing and biting Sipping her life down
  You feel it coming, You always do. The creepy crawlies are coming for you.     They itch, you scratch,
The moon races by the windowsill of Beach Music, our house on the sea, unremitting and vain in his chase. The footprint lane drifted down the shore, but only followed me.
I hold on to pain From which nothing is gained Remembering times When I was trampled down Down into the ground Beneath the soil where the bugs lay Instead of rot, I sought reality
Subscribe to Bugs