The snow is here–the birds are gone,
But still the last fly lingers on.
He don’t-know when he’s licked at all:
He should have died away last fall,
But there he is, a-zooming still;
Swooping here and there at will,
With lazy, vicious, angry buzz–
As mean a sound as ever was.
He’s had a lot of narrow squeaks,
But he lives on for weeks and weeks.
Tried to starve him–can’t do that,
Through rigid diet, he grows fat!
Sprays and swatters, you’d perceive
Just make him titter up his sleeve;
I’ve tried to kill him every way,
But he’s in best of health today.
If he’d just hibernate ’til spring,
That would settle everything–
But he must dip, and zoom, and buzz,
Which simply can’t go on, becuz,
To use an old, old, oft-used line,
It’s GOT TO BE HIS LIFE OR MINE!!!!
by Ray Romine Tuesday, September 13, 1938
