Join Delores, MotherOwl, and me as we delve into this topic. You can post a poem in the comments or on your own blog; if you do the latter, please leave a comment so we know where to find you. Use the topic or not -- it's all in fun and it's good exercise for the brain.
Tiny but deadly.
What's worse than turning out the light and climbing into bed after a long summer day and hearing ...... hmmmmmmmmmmmmmm ..... all around your face? You know you won't be getting any sleep until you (1) donate blood, or (2) kill the critter.
But in the dark, it's hard to know just where to aim. And when the droning stops, things just get worse. You know the flying hypodermic needle has landed and is about to pierce your skin. You wait for the tiny prickling sensation that tells you it has started to insert its pointy proboscis, and slap yourself silly.
Hoping you've landed a death blow, you settle down to sleep again.
Ahhhhhh. Peace and quiet.
And then .............. hmmmmmmmmmmmmm ...........
It's either Lucky Lindy back again . . . or a half a dozen of her friends who've arrived for the funeral.
I say "Lucky Lindy" because, as we are often told, it's only the females who want to drink our blood. I personally have probably killed thousands of mosquitoes during my life and I bet half of them were innocent. But who can tell if a hovering mosquito is male or female?
Smack it! Smack it dead!
Oh, woe betide the soulless schmuck
Who kicks a dog or shoots a duck
Or pins a wriggling butterfly
Or from such things does turn his eye
My scorn for such a savage jerk
Is merited by his vicious work
. . . But I don't turn a hair and I don't say No
When somebody kills a mos-quit-o
While searching for an appropriate mosquito-related picture, I came across some additional helpful information.
And this: (but be sure to read the punch line. We don't want a rash of spoon burns going around the internet.)
Wishing you a week free of things that bug you :)