Memphis University School - Owl Yearbook (Memphis, TN)

Page 32 text:

TO THE MOSQUITO. Of nights when all my prayers are said, I lay me down upon my bed To sleep— to sleep, my tired head! I hear a buzz above my bed. Woe is me, mosquito ! His voice, at first a muffled hum, Grows louder like an approaching drum, And as his tones he doth unclasp, His voice it soundeth like a rasp ! Woe is me, mosquito ! With eagle eye he scans the field For tender hide his bite to yield ; And as I just begin to doze He comes and sits upon my nose. Woe is me, mosquito ! I raise my hand prepared to strike, But from my face the imp does pike, To sing in impudence his lay, While I begin to wish for day. Woe is me, mosquito ! I close my eyes, and sleep is near, But hear him now ' quite near my ear, And clench my fist to strike him dead, But catch the blow full on my head. Woe is me, mosquito ! His song now grows into a wail In which he tells a mournful tale, How in his song there ' s sleepless night Malaria germs lurk in his bite. Woe is me, mosquito ! The pest 1 can no longer bear, And mad, begin to paw the air In hopes that by some lucky blow To lay the pesky demon low. Woe is me, mosquito ! And as the night goes on apace, He raises whelps upon my face. I can not steal one little nap Uninterrupted by a slap. Woe is me, mosquito ! As morning light does streak the air, I see him perched upon a chair ; And as I bound upon the floor, In peace he passes out the door. Woe is me, mosquito ! N. Spieler. 24