He follows a cow
Until nature calls
Then rolls up her droppings
In neat little balls.

Did the other bugs think
His parents were crude
When they taught the young beetle
To play with his food?

I’ll be first to admit
That his sculptures are neat
But I will look elsewhere
For something to eat.

We can learn from the beetle
When life’s droppings fall
Just roll them all up
In a neat little ball.

Dig a deep hole
In which it will fit
Then bury the ball
And forget about it.