I Am Insect, You Made Me Pest

I am insect — ancient, resilient guest,
You called me creature, then labeled me pest.
Three hundred million years I’ve flown,
Before your kind had ever grown.

We are the pulse of leaf and bloom,
In buzzing fields, we chase perfume.
Seventy-five percent, we thrive —
Keeping this Earth’s great web alive.

But then you came — a million years,
With greed in heart and poisoned spears.
You wanted all, you took with might,
And sprayed our skies with blinding blight.

You thought you’d end our tiny reign,
With every drop, inflicted pain.
Yet what you did was choose the best —
By killing weak, you bred the rest.
You cleared our foes with toxic rain,
And made our path to rule again.

What folly! What short-sighted play —
Each drop you spray will make you pay.
For one percent may strike us down,
But ninety-nine poisons your town.
Your air, your soil, your children’s breath,
Are shadowed now by creeping death.

You feast on fruit we helped to grow,
We danced on blooms, made life bestow.
The honey that your poets praise,
Is made by us in golden days.
The lac you wear, the silk you prize,
All born beneath our humble skies.

So hear this truth you can’t ignore:
If we are gone, you’ll breathe no more.
We are the keepers of the seed,
The quiet hands that help you feed.
Respect us now, before you fall —
For without us, there is no all.