The wasp
Mistook the platform of the water lily
For dry ground.
His wings, so weighted with unaccustomed moisture
He floundered helplessly,
His aggression lost in the struggle for survival.
I put a finger under the wriggling little body —
Flick
And he was lying kicking on the grass.
Slowly he moved his water-heavy wings as if in amazement,
Then, five minutes preening
And he was off in a buzzing flight, not staying to say “thank you”.
I smiled,
Surely the gratitude was in the flight?