November 17, 2014

  • Flies

    Every season the flies end up inside
    Come late autumn
    Clutching to curtain strings
    To warm ceilings
    Their wings twitch
    Their movements slow
    They are not the those annoying objects you once knew
    They can be picked up and almost coddled
    They move around a bit out of habit and return
    To regain comfort
    Sometimes a warm front rolls through
    And they pound against the window once again
    Then it gets cold
    The process starts over
    They don't search for help
    Or seem to understand what biological process
    Brought them there
    They just seem to know the warmth of the sun

Comments (4)

  • Woot! Hi there Nelson!! I love the fly poem - you have captured the overwintering of the little beasts perfectly. Now they are so slow it seems cruel to kill them - so I advocate tossing them outside because those few straggling robins have to eat...

    • Thank you dear...I was going to just use the vacuum...now I might reconsider...

  • Aw.. Very nice. A different way of looking at flies - very sympathetic. Long time no see. peace to you

  • See you in other places, Nelson. My time is about up here. peace always

Comments are closed.

Post a Comment

Recent Posts

Recent Comments

Categories