Buggy poem

Lilly goes to bed,
wakes up with that:
just not bugs,
don’t send me bugs my God!

Her ask, as if the bugs would take
 notice of it, they bypass Lilly.

There some rusty arthropods,
which wait on personally,
arbitrary, with combative stand out.

Of the nicer ones, for her blouse
of the day, she pins the volunteer
on an opening flower with cold blood.

Our fears, our mumbo-jumbos
to fight with, he helps like this:
to someone he gives one, to someone
He gives more bugs.