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A DUNG BEETLE'S LOVE CALL
Send me a lover, O Lover Divine,
The dung’s turning gold in the summer sunshine.
It’s time to be dating, or even be mating,
And ecstasy’s waiting for beetles that "mine."
        Not miners of silver or diamonds are we,
        But diggers of droppings from beaver or bee.
        That lovely manure that smells like the sewer,
        We find it far purer than spray from the sea.
My lover and I then would carve out a hunk,
Then pat it and shape it into a great chunk.
As if we were bowling, we’d start the ball rolling,
And into a hole we have dug, it goes plunk!
        What fun! What amusement! To tumble and creak
        Down the trail, living out our dung beetle mystique.
        Laying eggs in the dung balls where Nature will guide ‘em
        And hide ‘em inside ‘em where no one will peek.
So send me a lover, Great Lover of Jokes,
We tumblebugs need all your graces and strokes.
With love, and strong dentures, we’ll have great adventures
Without needless censures from finicky folks.




from the forthcoming book Prayers of 100 Animals A to Z, by William Cleary

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