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In the summer, all day long
I go searching high and low,
Hunting for new insect friends
everywhere I go. . .

There’s a beetle on the floor
hurrying, scurrying.
Under the couch he goes.

I feel a ladybug on my hand
wiggling, tickling.
She just came to say “hello.”

I hear June Bugs on the screen door
snapping, tapping.
They want to come inside.

There’s a moth in the windowsill,
flitting, flapping.
She wants to fly outside.

I find a centipede underneath a rock.
Hustling, bustling,
he races for the dark.

I hear a locust in the treetop,
vibrating, singing.
Clinging to the tree bark.

I see the bugs, I hear the bugs.
Sometimes I touch them, too.
If they’re friendly, if they have no
stingers, I know it’s safe to do.

I see a spider in its web,
waiting, preying,
Soon he'll grab his catch.

There's a grasshopper in the field.
Hopping, stopping.
He's a jumping jack flash. . .