The swansong of the maybug
I am a minor maybug
But my future is assured
When other snouts have petered out
Or turned to cosmic curd
I will survive each decimation
And garner reams of adulation
I am a minor maybug
No shell than mine is harder
When bigger beasts are oiled and greased
And ready for the larder
I will be burnishing acclaim
Survival is my middle name
I am a minor maybug
I’ll not go out of style
They’ll sing me psalms with open arms
Not so the crocodile
The rhino with its powdered horn
Will be dismissed with withered scorn
I am a minor maybug
Cockchafer types like I
Will strut their rusty wings and thrust
When hippo pools run dry
When bisons are extinct, ah then I
Mean to flash my famed antennae
I am a minor maybug
An Ozymandian type
When larger louts have long died out
They’ll have me here to hype
The elephants they’ll feed to dogs
But I will never pop my
Click here for the story in The Independent
