The bugs are the bugles of nature for some,
Hurting is their tip, forming a lack of power;
The bugs have diverse rules, never to understand
As their bite is on this date, and the craft is clear.
The minding of these insects is immense,
Slowly we bite them with our strategy and tactics,
It takes the army some, the reality beckons
But we are in shivers for the pain and suffering.
Huge bugs will define us, what are our habits?
Their forewings and hindwings can handle their flight
To ruin our skin, with their feeding habits.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem