Notmuchtodothesedays
theninspirationcomesourway.
It used to look at us
With well-founded fear
Of being squished, poisoned
Or eaten by a bird.
Its sensitive bristles
Gave early warnings
Of an impending swat.
Its googly eyes,
A mosaic of imagery.
Its thready legs
Ready to high-jump
In a full reverse take-off.
But now it sits, immobile
On my desk.
Luminescent green, blue and gold.
A wondrous machine
Whose minute mysteries,
like its wings,
Remain to unfold.
david williams
