One day, while perusing the paper on my knee,
I noticed a Fly , reading with me.
I could have crunched him, there as he sat,
But he wanted to see where the world was at.

It ocurred to me, "Why, I could make a mint,
With this tiny insect who reads print."

My husband did not understand,
As he marched in, swatter in hand.
Before my eyes it was too late,
My winged protege had met his fate.

Patricia Hall
© 1999

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