Feeling Buggy? ? ? Poem by Connetta Jean

Every year when spring gets near
It's the same old, same old thing.
Bugs come out and craw about
they lay in wait for spring.
They squirm they craw (they've bit us all)
their tiny mighty thugs
They make us shout and jump about
I hate the thought of bugs.
they hide in walls and window sills
in holes and under rugs
they pinch and bite (i hate the sight)
Of them pesky things called bugs.
theirs wasps and ticks, mosquito's and
bees...and fleas and slugs..
theirs one that looks just like a stick
i hate the thought of bugs.
We swat them, blast them with spray
we stomp them and squash them too
but still theirs more (than there was before)
I hate bugs, don't you?
there's ants and spiders, willy worms
grasshoppers, nats, (with tiny mighty mugs.)
soon they will be all over me
I hate the thought of bugs.
They bite they sting (their nasty things)
from me they get no hugs.
And now their out..hanging about
I hate the thought of bugs


ALL poems posted by me was written by me...connetta jean.