Small Comfort

We're running out of butterflies, we're running out of bees
To feed the flying dinosaurs and pollinate the trees;
We're running out of grasshoppers to hop upon the grass,
And termites, ants and cockroaches and even wasps, alas.
Yet not all of our crawly buzzing chums are disappearing:
From summer clouds shines forth a silver lining for the cheering:
Though extinction looms for others, there are plentiful supplies
Of window-banging bluebottles and whining office flies.

Auntie Molly Gist