Mosquitoes

For my skin - hidden blood Abandons neighbouring feeding forest Dumping the nearby, friendly gutter After a heavy washing flood Hijacks long sleep and short rest Forcing us to malevolent curses utter With all manner of men getting into trouble Who attack it with strength, a bubble; Not infrequently phoning their nurses And for insecticides, unzipping their purses. Spared not also by The Saints, Though its killing their images taints; On it hipping a hurt's abuse, All the time emptying the refuse. Simply the handiwork of pin - sharp proboscis Justifying uttered obscenities or Holy Moses! In the late nights A scheduling of sure flights, With its sleep - verifying song That does us a great wrong.