O Hornet! When I think’st what thou canst do
To make strong men just hump themselves and run,
Men who wouldst boldly face a ten-inch gun
But lack the “sand” to halt whilst you pursue,
And deem’st thy stinger something they wouldst rue,
I’ve wondered if, when things that weigh a ton
Flee from thy wrath, thou dost not deem it fun
To chase folks that are so much bigger ’n you.
Didst I accordin’ to my size possess
The means for gettin’ even thou dost own,