The Fly
I was sitting up in my bed,
When a little fly flew round my head.
Whenever the fly was in flight,
His buzz sounded just like a Microlight.
He buzzed really close to my left ear,
And I didn't like him being that near.
The fly, I found, really annoying:
With my patience, he was toying.
I was trying to read a poetry book,
But, my attention from it, he soon took,
On the words, I couldn't concentrate;
His constant whining made me really irate.
Very soon, I snuggled back down:
The fly's whining, I was keen to drown.
I put my head back under the cover:
Of flying insects, I am not a big lover.
But I could still hear the fly's whining;
Through my window, the sun was shining.
The whining sound was really high pitched;
The idea of more sleep, I very soon ditched.
Maybe he liked the warmth of my skin;
He seemed to like me, but I didn't like him.
I got out of bed, and I opened the door,
And, thankfully, I didn't see him anymore.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Added by Poetry Lover
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