We sprayed them with insecticide,
But they became immune,
And in our books they yet abide,
With no sign they will soon
Depart, although we've tried and tried
To make them change their tune.
Oh, woe! What can we do to keep
Our books from being shredded?
As paper's chewed to dust, we weep,
And rail against the dreaded
Infesters. Put these pests to sleep,
And to you we're indebted!
The waste has turned our hearts to lead:
We ask our scourges "Why?
Our book collection's to be read,
Not form your food supply!"
"Who cares? To that supply we're wed,
So kiss your books goodbye!"
"But can't you see what you destroy?
You feast on food for minds!
And what you've eaten could employ
So many different kinds;
But any book that you enjoy
No reader ever finds."
"Well, we can't read, but must be fed,
So why should insects sigh
For words? We'll shed no tears," they said,
"As we've no cause to cry.
If bugs or books must join the dead,
Then books, not bugs, shall die!"
Where we see learning to embrace,
The insects see a treat,
So they and we are in a race:
We purchase, while they eat.
If we buy faster, we outpace
Them: if we don't, we're beat.
What we build up, they whittle down:
Our holdings ebb and flow.
We battle for each verb and noun,
And grieve to see them go.
But in red ink our efforts drown:
We're running out of dough.
Since we can't teach the bugs to read,
And cannot rub them out,
Our situation's sad indeed;
Eternal, too, no doubt.
The books both we and they so need
We'll have to do without.
Originally published in SUL News Notes, September 3, 1993.
c 1993, 1995 Fleabonnet Press for the author.