I thought we’d finally attained
an environment less stressed and strained,
that by means of strikes and sprays we’d reached our ends.
But there they are: In troth…a Moth,
just settled down to rest,
and surely breed, amongst the woolens.
They claimed, that if you aimed
this patent spray, at these fluttering creatures,
they’d soon decay;
At very least, they’d fly away.
That’s like what preachers say,
“Be good today, and you’ll go to heaven.”
But before your bona fides
are completed, you’ve got
to get your garden seeded,
and if you think you’ll make
that moth extinct,
you’re undoubtedly deluded;
for before their eggs
are washed away
they’ll have eaten up our sweaters,
the human race will all be gone,
replaced, we hope, by something better,
and moths, by then, will have evolved
into something tall and slender,
discussing in their cashmere nests
how to get rid of those post-human pests.