Poems (Geisse)/The Mosquito

by Mary A. Geisse

THE MOSQUITO.

When at night the weary mortal,
 On his couch would seek repose,
Then's the time that the mosquito,
 Ever confidential grows;
Buzzing, and forever buzzing,
 In the victim's drowsy ear,
Biting to impress his meaning,
 Lest his language be not clear.

Each swift stroke he deftly dodges,
 For, as everybody knows,
He's as agile as tormenting,
 And the air receives the blows.
Then, despite his size, he's fearless,
 And persistently attacks,
For, whatever else is wanting,
 'Tis not courage that he lacks.