Stink Bug Steers at Poetry Forum

I saddle up my dragonfly,
My stetson's pulled down tight,
We've got 1000 head of bugs,
To round up by tonight.

We fly out to the southern greens,
To gather most 'the herd,
But they stampeded out of here,
Chased by a humming bird.

A couple here, a couple there,
We slowly round them up,
Making sure they bear our brand,
The Circle Buttercup.

Well, night sets in before we're done,
We settle down to camp,
The smell of stinkbugs in the air,
The wind is warm and damp.

The next day brings a trace of rain,
The stinkbugs slowly graze,
The sun decides to show itself,
Through shrouds of foggy haze.

We break our camp and ride on out,
We're slowly underway,
It doesn't look like we will make,
Topeka by today.

So one more eve beneath the weave,
Of stratus filtered moon,
We sleep our fill upon a hill,
A semi-grassy dune.

When morning comes the herd is gone,
They're nowhere in our sight,
We camped too near a zapper with,
An ultra-violet light.