On weak wings we FLY about Before life's candle flickers out. Jumping fish upon us gorge. Lived in Texas and there around, Then moved east where beans abound. The garden BEAN is our main food, Soybean too when in the mood. We don't eat aphids for our repast, Like ladybirds with whom we're classed.
Plants react to insect stings And sometimes form peculiar things.
Odd shaped growths on the roots Or on the leaves and twigs and shoots. May their surfaces be adorned. Some are big and some are small And take most any shape at all, From spindle shaped to like a ball. In crack and niche is where we hide. During day we shun the light And come out when it is night.