---

C J Dennis - March Flies
Work rating: Low

Now comes the time when we douse flies
   With various kinds of sprays -
The sand flies, and the house flies,
   And the flies with furtive ways.
But I keep my hate for the large flies
   That come for the tree-lined creek -
Those arch flies, the March flies
   With a crosscut saw for a beak.

Now, most flies rouse in the autumn
   From the summer`s drowsy daze,
And they bite as nature taught `em,
   In various styles and ways.
They nip, or they stab or they burrow;
   But the fly that knocks me out
Is the March fly, with the dull, dead eye
   And a crosscut saw for a snout.

Now the house flies come to the table
   Or busily play on the pane;
And our rage and heat they calmly treat
   With the uttermost disdain.
And the buzz-flies buzz and blunder,
   And the sandflies dig right in;
But my whole soul shrinks when the March fly sinks
   His crosscut under my skin.

He`s a sneak and an arrant coward,
   And the lowest of low-down cows,
By nature ghoulishly dowered
   With a weapon no law allows.
And it isn`t the pain he gives me
   Nor the blood he may chance to draw,
It`s the loathsome way that he makes foul play
   With his really terrible,
   Most unbearable,
   Horrible crosscut saw.
Source
The script ran 0.001 seconds.