Classic Poem

A Gnat unto a Lion spoke:
" Your boasted strength is but a joke —
You bite with teeth, you scratch with nails
Like any woman when she rails. "
And sounding then his horn, he goes
Directly to the Lion's nose,
Where all Zoologists declare
Is neither bristle, down, nor hair —
A tender spot. And here he stings.
The frenzied Lion madly flings
His paws about his face, and bleeds
From his own misdirected deeds.
The Gnat he buzzes forth a paean
And soars into the empyrean.
But shortly after, being tangled
In cobwebs, he was mauled and mangled;
And murmured: " What a fate is my own!
Here I, who put to flight a Lion,
Must perish by a wretched Spider
And find a petty grave inside her. "

MORAL

The greatest danger often lies
In little things that we despise.