Picking isn’t working
They swarm and multiply
They are always smirking
And most refuse to die
We’ve killed so many gross bugs
But more come take their place
They’re shiny, nasty plant thugs
Reducing leaves to lace
The lures become a death trap
We empty them all day
But beetles fly and they flap
On leaves and fruits they prey
I’m almost at my limit
My patience has run out
But I must grin and bear it
Or I will scream and shout
I’ve heard that powdered eggshell
Will keep them all at bay
Or potions with a bad smell
I’ll make some homemade spray
I won’t let them beat me
I won’t give up this war
One more month and they’ll be
Gone and out the door
a pinch of homestead 