As I watched a fly die the other day, it occurred to me that at no stage was that fly ever concerned about anything other than to have a bit of food, reproduce and fly around on a piece of glass. The fly had life worked out.
How clever the fly To buzz and sit And watch the world go by From the window sunlit. Making its space With a thump and a whack Through the dust it can taste A delicious snack. How clever the fly To sit in the sun. On the sill it will die When the day is done.
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