'In the Likeness of a Grasshopper' by Ted Hughes:
Waits on the field path.
A wicker contraption, with working parts,
Its spring tensed and set.
So flimsily made, out of grass
(Out of the stems, the joints, the raspy-dry flags).
Baited with a fur-soft caterpillar,
A belly of amorous life, pulsing signals.
Along comes a love-sick, perfume-footed
Music of the wild earth.
The trap, touched by a breath,
Jars into action, its parts blur -
And music cries out.
A sinewy violin
Has caught its violinist.
Cloud-fingered summer, the beautiful trapper,
Picks up the singing cage
And takes out the Song, adds it to the Songs
With which she robes herself, which are her wealth,
Sets her trap again, a yard further on