Shimmering, crawling, rolling in flight,
They eat up my rose bushes by day and by night.
I scarcely could count to number them all,
An insatiable appetite from a beetle so small.
Like the locust they arrive never making a sound,
Emerging from hideaways deep in the ground.
Unerring, uncanny they hone in and find,
My lovely rose bushes leaving dead stems behind.
2/1/05
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I would like to translate this poem