Of Middle Size

The entomologist likes little things,
But she has large friends. I'm of middle size,
With my petite elbows, and big blue eyes,
So she's become confused. An aphid's wings,
She's clear on that, or why a hornet stings,
But men are hard to fathom. They tell lies,
White ones and dark, believe things you despise,
And never offer substance without strings.

She knows it's not as simple as all that,
People are complicated. She is, too,
A woman who likes crawling things, who grew
To love digesting silence, like a cat,
Who wears unlikely flowers on her hat,
And understands the world the way I do.