|I am not alone in my crazed |
quest. I know exactly what this
stick figure is wielding in her
hands (it's a pheremone trap)
Ladybird, nor butterfly,
Nor moth with dusty... "Oh, dear"... wing,
Nor cricket chirping cheerily,
Nor grasshopper so light of leap,
Nor dancing gnat, nor beetle fat,
Nor harmless worms that creep.
The "oh, dear" was my interjection. See, ever since we bought an infested package of dates from the Indian emporium Patel Brothers, I've been waging an intense moth-extermination regime. I bought pheremone traps and moth balls, Oxo containers that cost $17.99 (!!) a pop, and any time I see a larva or moth I make a big production out of killing it. My battles with the moths are legendary, and are very well known by my daughter. So, how does one reconcile insane anti-moth mommy with the lovely poem above and its moral message?
|This is war!|