He wriggled and struggled.

Rested for a while.

Wriggled, became looser.

Could almost see a smile.

One wing… Popped!

Another one ..Slid.

No more cocooned.

No more was hid.

In leafy terrain, his cover blown.

No home left, to call his own.

Wings still sticky and kinda damp.

Colourful wrinkles, cocoon type cramp.

He flapped and fluttered, beat his wings.

To young to know what the season brings.

Then there she was.

Perched, pert on a leaf green.

Bug thoughts now quiet obscene

The prettiest bug he’s ever saw.

When she flipped her sting.

It was love for sure.

They spent many hours.

Doing what bugs do best.

Now and again stop to rest.

No-one told them.

As they reach for the sky.

Twenty four hours.

Then doomed to die….

One last embrace

Done breeding chore.

Clinging together.

Fell…dead…on the floor.