Sonnet To The Housefly

Buzz – buzz, persistent fly, buzz – buzz. Fear not

     We would not harm a hair on thy head,

     In fact our souls are filled with constant dread

Lest sticky flypaper should be thy lot

And thou shouldst meet with death upon the spot.

     Summer would be a dull summer, we ween,

     If thou couldst not everywhere be seen

Slipping on the edges of butter plates,

Or making impressions on barren pates.

There is always something doing, O fly!

To keep us all awake when thou art nigh.

     Thy cream-de-luxe existence we admire,

     Nor of thy gentle buzz – buzz never tire;

So buzz and bite in perfect ecstasy!

July 10, ‘08