|Weta of Doom|
O Weta, where is thy sting,
It is in my arm pumping poison, with alacrity and aplomb.
O Wetta, how can you sting me through my very thick sweater?
You don’t have a sting, neither.
You will have to forgive the 'double negative' in the last line and put it down to 'poetic license'. To be honest, I struggled with the metre and medication.
I thought it necessary to comment on my little ditty in order to deflect censure and to provide context. Wetas are insects indigenous to New Zealand. They are found in a range of habitats and comprise about 70 distinct species. They are large, nasty looking, and mimic the disconcerting habitus of a cockroach. They are bereft of sting, but the largest of the species can give a nasty nip. My ferret, Shagger, chomps on them with relish- at least it keeps him away from the native birds such as the Kiwi. "What's that, Shagger? You eat the Kiwis as well, but only when I'm distracted by shiny things". That will explain why I keep finding feathers in my duvet. Bad ferret! No small kibble for you tonight. Your punishment: I shall release you into the bush. There you can contemplate your folly and seek repentance. Also, I need a few more feathers for my pillow.
Little known fact: In Maori, 'Weta' means- 'fat arsed cockroach'. Arse