By Nick Roes

Though there’ve been floods and plagues and droughts

The bugs survive, there is no doubt.

Meteors and long Ice ages

Don’t interrupt the larval stages.

On mammoths we have laid the wreath,

And tigers that had sabre teeth.

Black rhinos and white dolphins gone,

Still creepy crawlers, they live on.

I’d surely rather not depart,

At least, live always through my art.

But what good’s immortality,

For just the cockroaches and me.