(Poet recites while gently strumming a lyre; Chorus stands nearby at the ready)
Poet: Hark! To my tale of The Spotted Lanternfly,
Almost as pretty as The Butterfly,
But with a far worse reputation.
Chorus: Rightly so.
Poet: It neither bites, nor stings, nor gets in our way,
Yet everywhere, to my dismay,
Are calls for the species’ eradication.
Chorus: They destroy crops and ruin so many trees.
Poet: Oh woe! That affairs have come to this,
For what is, at worst, an inconvenience,
Genocide is deemed the only solution.
Chorus: We’d never be able to wipe them all out; just every last one in sight is what’s needed.
Poet: How can we call ourselves “civilized”
When an unaggressive insect is demonized
And its annihilation is labelled as “duty”?
Chorus: Crops: destroyed. Trees: ruined. What part of this are you not getting?
Poet: Will no one speak for The Spotted Lanternfly?
Will no one fight for their right to get by?
They are entitled to life as all others.
Chorus: They are an invasive species that hitchhiked their way here and contribute absolutely nothing to this continent’s ecosystem.
Poet: Must we cause extinction yet again?
Have we not learned our lesson?
Can we not share this planet with –
Chorus: There’s a swarm going through your vineyard as we speak.
(Poet stares at Chorus, gently sets down the lyre, and picks up a flamethrower)
Poet: That’s it – they’re going down.
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