The Fly

Written by: Jon A Cavanaugh

Little fly
At summers play
Buzzing past
My food and tray

Art thou not
My enemy
Or art thou not
Afraid of me

I work and eat
Then go to bed
And with my hand
I'll crush thy head

Thinkest thou of life
And strength and breath
Then flee from me
And certain death

Then thou shalt be
A happy fly
Thou shalt live
And shall not die