Read more from the Being Truly Human July 1992 Newsletter
By Joan Dashwood
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?
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