We don’t lick ladybirds,
that’s not what we do.
We giggle at them lots,
smile at their spots
and count their wings, one-two.

We don’t lick ladybirds,
that’s not what we do.
We hold them in our palms,
see if they have legs or arms
and wonder from where they flew.

We don’t lick ladybirds,
that’s not what we do.
We sing songs about them,
write poems about them,
then you lick them anyway
cos you’re only 2.

© Carl Burkitt 2019