It's summer and they buzz around <br />Producing lots of buzzing sound, <br />Doing what all flies do best, <br />Confirming that they are a pest. <br /> <br />And nothing seems to faze the things <br />No matter what the weather brings, <br />Rain or shine it's all the same, <br />This flies versus the humans game. <br /> <br />I hear they have a hundred eyes <br />Unless someone is telling lies; <br />I can't imagine why the need - <br />Overkill, like the centipede? <br /> <br />Picnic times they're worst of all <br />As plagues of them upon us fall, <br />And flapping arms don't mean a thing <br />To busy flies upon the wing. <br /> <br />But then perchance there is a lull <br />As if somehow there's been a cull, <br />But nothing of the sort is true <br />They've only flown from me to you. <br /> <br />Back and forth they hum away <br />Blasting every summer's day, <br />Only autumn halts their drone <br />And for a season we're alone. <br /> <br />Inside the house their numbers fall, <br />Just the odd one on the wall, <br />Then over winter they just wait, <br />For then 'tis time to Flybernate. <br /> <br />(Written Nov 2013)<br /><br />John Carter Brown<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/flies-10/
