I showed the little one a rose,
Which then arose a little smile:
A half-moon toothless pure delight
As flighty as a midnight kite.

Her raven eyes of seven weeks
Then followed the uneven path
Along the branches of the rose:
An avalanche of bugs were close.

So, usually I let them be
The butterflies I love to see.
And yet today I knew I couldn’t.
I fully squished my inner “shouldn’t”.

The horror: itchy silky fur
On milky, velvet baby skin!
Avuncular protectiveness
Effected swift effectiveness.

I took my little angel back,
And stacked my plans for bug attack.
Remembering a previous rhyme,
I let them climb a plate of lime.

I saw them curl and shed their fur
With relish of a predator.