Summer is a time of year
With many creatures, small and dear,
That disappear when winter's chills abound.
Among them is a tiny thing
Which can seem vicious, oh, so mean,
Near any pool of moisture on the ground.
It has a long and narrow probe
For piercing skin where're it goes
To drink from living rivers there beneath.
And when I can, I swat the thing
Which leaves a splash of red on me
And often words, unkind, escape my teeth.
For though she's small and merely seeks
Something there which she might eat
I begrudge her every single liquid bite.
So, if I see her land on me
I swat her, quick, 'fore she should flee
And watch for all her friends that try to light.
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