Rub-a-dub-dub, here's a duck for my tub,
And motorboats, one, two, three;
A whale, a fish,
a floating soap dish—
But where is there room for me?
It’s time to get dry, so wrap me up tight
In a fluffy blue towel till I’m out of sight.
My cozy cocoon will hide me from you . . .
Until I pop out and shout “Peekaboo!”
Aren't all bugs bugs? Well, no, not quite.
Some insects sting, some insects bite,
But the thing that makes a true bug true
Is the tube he uses to pierce you.
He pokes his long beak through your skin,
Then sucks a liquid dinner in.
Or maybe he just dines on plants,
Or other insects, if a chance
To catch one comes along. I'd say
True bug's a true pest, either way!
The honey drip-dripped from a honeybee tree.
Along came a bear, as hungry as can be.
He sniffed that honey, and it smelled so sweet,
He thought he'd found a treat to eat.
But the bees buzz-buzzed, "Bear, go away!
Don't you steal our honey today!"
Copyright © 2020 Paula Morrow: Writer, Editor, Librarian - All Rights Reserved.
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