Befuddled
A POEM
A slow befuddled winter fly
With 747 abandon
Has trundled from my window sill
And God knows what he’ll land on.
Such geriatric flies present
A crisis to compassion:
To smear them or to leave them space
To die in their own fashion.
A POEM
A slow befuddled winter fly
With 747 abandon
Has trundled from my window sill
And God knows what he’ll land on.
Such geriatric flies present
A crisis to compassion:
To smear them or to leave them space
To die in their own fashion.