Carol B Tyre Poet Rhyme

Poor Fly

I saw an old guy,

Looking around outside,

Just like a spy;

Peering into the sky,

With beadle brown eyes,

That matched  his tie;

That I would not buy -

But I would that pie,

That the old lady tried,

To keep from the fly;

That constantly went by,

Angering her to cry,

Which I wondered, why?

Then I saw the old guy,

Swatting the fly,

She stops and sigh;

For the poor fly dies,

And she yells, "oh my!"

As he adjusts his tie,

Then happily says, "Goodbye!"

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