Ancient insect emerged from the primeval bush,
you are caught up in today’s surge of humanity,
swept into our urban gardens.
Crickets and grasshoppers from foreign countries
jostle and crowd you in the gardens where
city birds hunt you, though wary of
your barbed back legs, your sharp nipping teeth.
The feline immigrants who luxuriate in
the comfort of our homes also
hunt your in  our gardens.

Your brown armour blends into
the branches of hedge and shrub,
your barbed back legs grip twigs
as you jump along searching
for leafy delicacies.
But still the tabby hunter
sometimes finds you and deposits
sad corpses on the floors inside.

Grandad would like to tell her
that you are a protected species
of ancient lineage.
He has no way telling her,
her collar bell gives you no warning.

A weta is similar in size and shape to a cricket, but unrelated.
It is native to New Zealand.


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