Photo by Thesiswhisperers on Morgue File
Tell us about the experience of being outside, looking in — however you’d like to interpret that.
There once was a bug that wished for a hug from a big, burly rug
Yet, he had gone without, and o’re this he did pout, always being on the out
But that little bug he tried, he tried and he tried, but that rug did hide
He sought it in a tree, way up among the leafs, but there it couldn’t be
He looked once by a hill, when grass is green and still, but there, nothing—no, nil!
He sought behind a barn, on some dusty old farm, nothing—but a spool of yarn
He caught glimpse of one down a road, he tried to take it to his fold, but it was an awfully big load
He could not find one here or there, no not one there or anywhere, and so he grew faint in despair.
Until one day he saw a light, shining forth warm, cozy and bright, and he felt, perhaps this was right
There through the glare of window pane, he saw a rug quietly lain, to catch the damp of fallen rain
If only he could find a way in, to get to this big, burly rug, then . . . then he would have his rug in the end
He knocked against the window glass, he hit it hard with his small mass, but still, he could not make it crash.
So he thought and thought some more, he thought as he ne’er had before, then he thought of an open door
He waited patiently in the cold, he waited for his chance to be bold, he waited til he felt feeble and old
Just then a creak he did hear, he looked and there so near, an opened door; to his cheer
He buzzed his wings and with a blast, hurled himself faster than fast, past the door, past it at last!
There it was before his eyes, “Look, there before me it lies, I must fly as the fastest flies!”
So he caught a puff of wind, that sent him right in a spin, right to the rug . . . he, it did send
There he was, his longed for fate; so long he had had to wait, “Better now, then when it’s too late.”
Into the rug he did burrow, through its thread he did furrow, at home in his woolen meadow
There he was all safe and sound, in his new home with acres ’round, in the rug he finally found
He was content and oh so snug, snug as any little, happy bug, snug as the happiest bug in a rug.