We landed in a world of glass
And crawled around the jungle.
A finger came down from the sky
To make us bend and stumble.
We nibbled on the juicy leaves
And sifted through the clover.
A finger tapped upon the glass
And made us topple over.
We sucked on moisture from the air
And slowly fed, and blindly.
A finger pointed to and fro
And mocked, and laughed unkindly.
We multiplied, and soon escaped
And hid, and donned disguises.
We spread ourselves through inner space
In different shades and sizes.
We’re crawling up the curtains
And behind the radiator.
We snuggle in the laundry.
We’ll be in your bedclothes later.
We really are the perfect pet,
Such lovely little charmers.
We’ll slyly slither down your shirt
And sleep in your pyjamas.
We’re just some little sticks on legs,
Such harmless little creeps.
But wait until we find the place
Where that pointing finger sleeps.
For fingers too are only sticks,
Such juicy little dishes.
(You think we’re vegetarians,
But that’s quite against our wishes.
We munch our victims through the night
But what’s a certain bet is
By dawn we’re back behind the glass
Benignly chewing lettuce.)
So keep your fingers to yourselves,
For we’re hungry and we’re sprightly. Make sure that glass is triple glazed
And keep that lid on tightly.
