Micro Moth Melancholy
Twas the night before Christmas, a trainee dreams of micros.
The cold and snows have arrived, exacerbating his woes.
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.
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.