The illusion of choice

An adaptation of ‘The Magnet’ by Oscar Wilde

One lazy afternoon, on a sunny sunny day,
Napping Mr. Bug fell off the drying hay,
“Oh! What a rush” he gushed, “I must have been dreaming”
Suddenly Mrs. Bug brushed past, why she was screaming!

“We have a new neighbour, a bright blue one you see.
She changes colour, and hisses like the sea”.
“You are out of your mind Mrs. Bug, are you insane?
There are no blue flowers this time, they come when it rains.”

Slip-slop, crackle-crum, tickle tickle tickle,
Up came the grasshoppers, let me warn you, they are fickle.
“Did ya see that lovely dovely Ms.Wooblie Blue” said adolescent Hoppy,
All us neighbors should go meet her now before she thinks we are sloppy!

“Now you must calm down, you know how silly little hops are Mr.Bug,
Why is everything ok? You surely look Mugged”
“Oh, what should I say Mr.Poppy, I had a bad dream,
Mrs.Bug wants to meet her too, but I am not so keen.”

“I agree Mr. Bug, we must visit her later, what if she is a crook?
She might ask us to tea with her and then close up like a book.
There is no need to be hasty now, lets think a little longer,”
said the two old insects while their instincts grew stronger.

“Its not that we are saying lets never meet her,
But first we should decide how to greet her.
What say, Mrs.Butterfly, what is your opinion?
Should we go tomorrow with this whole battalion?”

“My dear, she looks delightful, like a cup of sweet honey,
We could leave now while its still sunny!
Just to see what she looks like Mr.Bug found himself go near,
Unknowingly, they kept crawling closer with a little bit of fear.

Hop jumped Hoppy saying “We should go at once- Oh what could we possibly lose?
I wanna kiss her and hug her and make her my muse.”
“Yes! Yes!”, screamed the crowd, they decided to leave immediately,
Some fluttered, others crawled, the hoppers jumped frantically.

Before they knew it, they were on her smooth, silky fur,
“Phew!” said the blue flower, “That took for-ever.
For I have been longing for these juicy ones for a week now,
It was not till the seventh day that they took a bow.”

They assume that they have made this choice, but unaware of a spell.
Its their minds playing games with them, its the flower’s sweet smell.

Original text ‘The Magnet’ narrated by Oscar Wilde to a friend illustrating the illusion of choice.

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