It Was Just a Mosquito

It was just a bug; a mosquito hungry and thirsty,
Flying it came; sat on my little figure hurriedly.
A sharp pin it had with it; maybe a straw like thing,
Very short at the front end; like a sword on wings.
I carefully took a closer look; resting on my chin,
It was digging in; piercing the straw into my skin.
It was hungry I suppose; I saw it was working hard,
I felt like shooing it away; but waited for it to retard.

I was baffled; I really wanted to kill it,
But I heard a voice; “you can’t end it”.
“It’s feeding itself; filling its appetite,
See it’s mass; smaller than a puck size.”
I waited for it to finish; till it was satisfied,
Then it flew away; such an energetic flight.

I felt pride in me,
I could help fill a stomach,
Even if it was with my own blood!
Who gets a chance like this?
A satisfaction in itself,
Even if it was my own blood!