Lost and Hungry
We wandered down the same old path
With just a moments rest
Not even bread left in our sacks
Which bugs would taste the best?
Best cook them first in the stew pot
Over an open fire
We gathered up some short, dry sticks
The night of the bug pyre
Pyre down a shade or two
We dreamed that on the grill
We’d cook blueberry pancakes
Till tummy noises stilled
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