Buzzing here and floating there,
No conscience, heart, nor tether.
You fill your guts on all my guts
And love this perfect weather.
You bob and weave, you little wretch
To seek your bloody booty.
Your little pin-prick savag’ry,
Your loathsome call of duty.
To squash and maim and flatten you,
‘tis all my heart’s desire.
But conquer one and ten more come
With no plans to retire.
And when I stand at heaven’s gate
My journey to unravel,
Says God, the Lord, the judge of all,
“mosquitoes were my gavel.”
Rob's Lit-Bits 
A throwback to the 18th century – humor with a grain of truth. Love the word choices and style!
Thanks. I’d forgotten about those little bastards!
You mean you don’t have any down there? For shame…
We lived in Oregon for 5 years and have been in Southeastern Washington for 6 and, in neither place, were we graced with their evil presence.
I’ll try not to turn too green – it will clash with my hair color… 🙂
Written like the bard..Love it.
Thanks, Mark.