The poet is in a very imaginative mood. He talks about an imaginary insect, which he calls the Triantiwontigongolope. He says that this is a very funny insect that you do not often see. It is neither like a spider nor like a fly, but it’s something like a beetle and a little like a bee. It is not like the woolly little fat worm that climbs a tree. He says its name, the Triantiwontigongolope, is quite hard to pronounce, but he hopes the reader will soon learn it.

This insect lives on weeds and the gum from certain trees. It has a funny face. Its appetite is large, and its manners are quite disgraceful. It gives one quite a scare when one first comes across it, but when you look for it again, you find it isn’t there. And you must call it softly, or it will stay away, feeling very sorry for itself. The poet once again asks us to try to pronounce this insect’s name.

The poet tells us something more about this insect. It trembles if you tickle it or step on its toes. It is not an early riser. It has a fat nose turned up at the end. If you give it an unpleasant look or scold it, it will run away in shame with quick, short steps, but it purrs quite proudly if you call it by its name and offer it some sandwiches of sealing wax and soap. So try, says the poet again, to pronounce its name.

The poet finally gives out his secret, truthfully. He says that the reader may not have seen this insect; neither has he, the poet. Nor does he know where it lives. He says that there isn’t such an insect, but there might have been one, provided that the trees and grass were purple and the sky was bottle green. He says that it was just a joke, and he asks the reader to forgive him. But at the end, he once again asks the reader to pronounce the name: Triantiwontigongolope.