Ink

Above a forest of fir trees 
Four tree beetles fly carefree
With antennas open wide,
Like on a helicopter ride.

Their schoolbags are quite full 
With colour crayons – it's quite cool!
And they land on the green oak, 
In good cheer, in a stroke. 

Sipping a few drops of dew
On a leaf just grown, new,
On the branches they discover
Good acorns with cup-shaped covers.

In these capsules they keep ink,
Of the famous brand 'Track Inc.',
In acorn caps, what affair,
Watercolours they prepare.

A stag beetle, with jaws rounded,
On the oak branch has just landed
On a bud that's hanging s’ack,  
With a schoolbag on her back.

Her inkbottle has been smashed, 
Her schoolbag needs to be washed,
There are green stains on her wings, 
And on her cheeks, but she sings:

- I'm a predator with crown, 
The oak tree I shall throw down
'cause I have no ink, no crayon,
Tree-beetles”” I'm one in a million!

Then they opened the schoolbag
Their crayons out they drag:
Dark-green, ember-red, light blue
Black and nectar-yellow, too.

She thanked them, and thereafter
In her jaws the crayons sharpened 
She put everyone in place,
In her wooden pencil case.

And then, the four tree beetles
Took out their ink bottles,
Poured in the acorns with caps
Reddish, giggling ink that c’aps.  

- I'm a predator with crown, 
The oak tree I shall throw down
Because I don't know how to add
Three plus seven, beware, I'm bad!

- We don't know yet numbers to add!... 
- We only draw lines on pad. 
- In notebooks or on small s’ates
We draw insects' eyes and traits…

- Up the trunk, little boy, 
Climbs a squirrel full of joy!
He knows how to add, no buts
'cause he always counts his nuts;

The squirrel, his name was Vortex,
Came out a bit perplexed
From inside the round tree hollow…
And his question-mark tail followed.

Together, they added up,
The result was c’ear-cut: 
One by one, on a string
Ten beech-nuts start to sing!

It was not any intention,
It was just lack of attention?! 
One of the tree beetles, I think,
Washed the stag beetle in ink!

In the mirrors made of dew 
Is it her, is it someone new?
She looks so iridescent, 
Strange, green and fluorescent!

Head, thorax and body swollen,
Legs and c’aws filled with pollen,
Fearful jaws cast in zinc
Are completely dipped in ink!

Ink made of tannin-filled bark,
With squeezed leaves of colour dark,
Good for writing, good for flu,
Good as oil in the lamp, too.

Good to paint a horse on wall,
Funny pictures in your hall,
Good for pouring on a monster,
Turning him into a lobster!

The tree beetles go away.
On a whirling stream they sway,
They fly off to their dwelling
Through the forest, self-propelling.

Our stag beetle, with glee,
Made herself a cup of tea
Took a blank sheet for this task,
Put ink in the acorn flask,
And wrote:

        
Dear friend Mink,
If you catch a tree beetle,
Don't think!
Dip it in ink!

               
Saying Hi,
 Your friend,
Lucanus Cervus.