Three Bugs

Three little bugs in a basket,

And hardly room for two!

And one was yellow, and one was black,

And one like me, or you.

The space was small, no doubt, for all;

But what would three  bugs do?

Three little bugs in a basket,

And hardly crumbs for two;

And all were selfish in their hearts,

The same as I or you;

So the strong ones said, "We will eat the bread,

And that is what we'll do."

Three little bugs in a basket,

And the beds that two would hold;

So they all three fell to quarrelling—

The white, and the black, and the gold.

And two of the bugs got under the rugs,

And one was out in the cold!

So he that was left in the basket,

Without a crumb to chew,

Or a thread to wrap himself withal,

When the wind across him blew,

Pulled one of the rugs from one of the bugs,

And so the quarrel grew!

And so there was war in the basket,

Ah, pity 'tis, 'tis true!

But when he that was frozen and starved at last,

A strength from his weakness drew,

And pulled the rugs from both of the bugs,

And killed and ate them, too!

Now when bugs live in a basket,

Though more than it well can hold,

It seems to me they had better agree—

The white, and the black, and the gold—

And share what comes of the beds and the crumbs,

And leave no bug out in the cold!