Micro Moth Melancholy
Twas the night before Christmas, a trainee dreams of micros.
The cold and snows have arrived, exacerbating his woes.
Argyresthia goedartella
The micros have all disappeared, deep in winter slumber.
No moths had he seen, but for a Scarce Umbar.
The summer brockeelas and lacunanas, all gone.
A spring anew he must wait; it seemed so long.
Could it be a Hedya or an Apotomis?
O the ID headaches, did he miss!
The bogs are more empty without a margaritella,
No signs on the birch, of Epinotia ramella.
Lamenting the lack of an Agonopterix,
Or the fluttering twist of a Tortrix.
But he slept safe in the knowledge, that in the new year,
sleeping caterpillars would awake, to bring him cheer.
With the sun returned and the moths making their mines,
The return of the micros was a matter of time.
But for now he would have to make do,
With an occasional December moth, or two.
And while the rest of the world sleeps, awaiting St Nick;
This trainee thinks of his mentor, taking the mick.
By Ross McIlwrath.