Fired Up, Eaten Up
A male firefly, just weeks to live,
I focus on seeking Ms Right,
Cuz I got genes I gotta give,
So I go blinking through the night.
A chemical butt beacon sends
Code that I wanna get it on.
Whether or not it works depends
On how lucky a hand I've drawn.
Cuz there's a femme fatale firefly
Who flashes signals of pretense,
Hoping to fool a sex starved guy,
Then make a meal out of us gents.
As I was looking for my mate,
Guess who came to dinner - too late!
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Comments about this poem (Fired Up, Eaten Up by Ima Ryma )
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