TWO SONNETS TO THE JUNE-BUG

You make me jes' a little nervouser Than any dog-gone bug I ever see! And you know night's the time to pester me— When any tetch at all 'll rub the fur Of all my patience back'ards! You're the myrrh And ruburb of my life! A bumblebee Cain't hold a candle to you; and a he Bald hornet, with a laminated spur In his hip pocket, daresent even cheep When you're around! And, dern ye! you have made Me lose whole ricks and stacks and piles of sleep,— And many of a livelong night I've laid And never shut an eye, hearin' you keep Up that eternal buzzin' serenade!

And I've got up and lit the lamp, and clum On cheers and trunks and wash-stands and bureaus, And all such dangerous articles as those, And biffed at you with brooms, and never come 'In two feet of you,—maybe skeered you some,— But what does that amount to when it throws A feller out o' balance, and his nose Gits barked ag'inst the mantel, while you hum Fer joy around the room, and churn your head Ag'inst the ceilin', and draw back and butt The plasterin' loose, and drop—behind the bed, Where never human-bein' ever putt Harm's hand on you, er ever truthful said He'd choked yer dern infernal wizzen shut!