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Bread and Circuses

Chapter 3: THE POET AND THE WOOD-LOUSE
By Helen Parry Eden
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Poetry

About This Book

A lyrical collection of short poems ranges from quiet country scenes and childhood memories to urban sketches and religious reflections. The poet renders streams, gardens, market sellers, and domestic interiors in close sensory detail while pairing everyday observation with moral and spiritual meditation. Animal vignettes and playful pieces for children sit alongside elegies, prayers, and ironic portraits of modern life, producing tones of humour, tenderness, and solemnity. Varied forms and concise portraits move between pastoral lanes, London streets, and intimate household moments while attending to time, sorrow, and faith.

THE POET AND THE
WOOD-LOUSE

A portly Wood-louse, full of cares, Transacted eminent affairs Along a parapet where pears Unripened fell And vines embellished the sweet airs With muscatel.
Day after day beheld him run His scales a-twinkle in the sun About his business never done; Night’s slender span he Spent in the home his wealth had won— A red-brick cranny.
Thus, as his Sense of Right directed, He lived both honoured and respected, Cherished his children and protected His duteous wife, And nought of diffidence deflected His useful life.
One mid-day, hastening to his Club, He spied beside a water-tub The owner of each plant and shrub A humble Bard Who turned upon the conscious grub A mild regard.
“Eh?” quoth the Wood-louse, “Can it be A Higher Power looks down to see My praiseworthy activity And notes me plying My Daily Task?—Not strange, dear me, But gratifying!”
To whom the Bard: “I still divest My orchard of the Insect Pest, That you are such is manifest, Prepare to die.— And yet, how sweetly does your crest Reflect the sky!
“Go then forgiven, (for what ails Your naughty life this fact avails To pardon) mirror in your scales Celestial blue, Till the sun sets and the light fails The skies and you.”
May all we proud and bustling parties Whose lot in forum, street and mart is Stand in conspectu Deitatis And save our face, Reflecting where our scaly heart is Some skyey grace.