The Grasshopper   a poem in rhyming couplets of iambic hexameter   I wintered in a pod an inch below the dirt.   The snow arrived and melted ere I dared exert   a pressure on the fabric of my egg-sac pod.   In Egypt old, my emergence was a plague from God.   Today I damage cotton, soybeans, corn and rice;   and other crops too, but this listing should suffice   to make the point that I am still a pestilence.   By rubbing strips of tiny spines on legs against   my wings, I make a buzzing noise that sings, "Retreat,   you men, the clouds caliginous arrive to eat   your livelihood." What can you do? To heed   Leviticus 11, you'd unluckily need   to eat me too. St. John in camel hide preferred   to dip our crunchy legs in honey. Here's a word   of contradictory advice: try pesticide.   They leach into the soil, contaminate world wide   the water table. It's a convoluted path   with purpose clear: though God's might wanes, not so his wrath.