THE BUG WITH A NOSE LIKE AN AWL

Wrapped in its cocoon

Each object sits alone,

Inkstand, mouse or moon,

Bumblebee or stone.

 

And nothing quite can pierce

Its fortunate fortress-wall

Except the wily, fierce

Bug with a nose like an awl.

 

Abednego and Cicero

Were brought down by this monster

Who does the like to lark or crow,

To pundit and to punster;

 

Who toppled to his doom

The namesake of Big Boulder.

It perches now in this room

Honing its blade on your shoulder.

 

And on my wrist its brother

Confirms its parasitic

Death of me; another

Is this latest novel's critic.

 

What causes all this dust?

The ruin of the rose

Is neither thorn nor gust.

The bug with the wicked nose.