Trashing, it scrambled along the shiny surface of the metal sink.
Millions of legs running,
Antenna stretched searching for sanctuary.
Frozen, I watched it sink, one bit of its hinged body at a time.
Loosing, it drown in a swirl of liquid bubbles.
Dead.
The only problem it was still there and I hate bugs.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Tina, there's only one suitable reply to yours, mine: Cheers, Jerry MILLIPEDE With all those legs legs, one would suspect you'd travel as high speed? But observing your ridiculous gait, they just impede you. Silly millipede.