The Death Of A Fly

There were little droplets in the blue summer sky 

And nearby, there hummed a little fly—

She danced with the showers,

Or paused at the yellow flowers,

She plunged in the tall green grass,

Or whirled near my smoothie glass. 

With the flutter of her tiny wings, 

In dissonant buzz, a song she sings—

"Lizzen me pueezz!"— sharp in my ears 

In high notes near, and low ones full of tears. 

Though my ears worked well, I couldn't hear 

This song mellow with her innocence clear: 

I rose up in tension, held my smoothie down—

She came close; and before she could frown,

I gave a 'clap' for her 'beautiful' short song—

The same kind I give the song I've loved so long. 

And she, blushing, fell from my smoothie glass—

And hid silently, plunging in the dark grass.

I still finished the smoothie, cleaned my face—

Threw it in the bin—and lied to my mother's face: 

"A fly spoiled my smoothie—buy me another drink."

Then I opened the news—"Not a murder, she fell from the brink!" 

And mom 'ordered': "Turn it off! Take out your eye lens,

And see these histories are written by the punisher's pens."