The Fly

The High Tatras in wintertime

Snowcapped sparkling beneath sunshine

Cold winds parade this time of year

Await days of warmth to appear

Life is luxury at the Grand

The touch of gold has its command

Just ring the bell and please be served

Exactly what is your preserve

The weather whispers what to drink

A spot of rum above the rink

So pleasant is this cold cold land

So unlike Caribbean sand

The cheer is served a cup of rum

No other living soul to come

But wait alas a fly is there

How could it live in this cold air

Other morsels can not be found

The fly is starved and flies around

Now sights nutritious rum to gain

A feast to ease a hunger pain

About the cup of rum he fared

And for it goes the fly so scared

Upon the rim the fly alights

And guardedly partakes delights

One sip or two hooks any fly

Enough to fly above the sky

Where else is there in Tatras land

To find a morsel contraband

Above the cup to test his wings

The lonely fly falls prey to swings

And yet this cup of taste allure

Finds frenzied fly beyond the cure

So hooked is fly on rum that's all

Craves more the taste and does not fall

And back he flew up on the rim

To sip more rum there was no gin

Now here I watched that pesky fly

And wondered why he should not die

A lethal weapon was in hand

To rid this fly from our locked land

Poised was I to flail frail fly dead

My weapon held above the head

And yet the fly now drunk on rum

Returned for more however numb

With careful aim about to strike

That fly my pal of great dislike

About to die without a fight

And I disdainful of his plight

The death blow near and still the fly

Remained content he was so high

And as I readied that good bye

Fly wobbled to scotch my BONZAI

Now I ask as a man of rum

Could anyone kill a rum chum

Even a fly could race his heart

Rum pals never pulsate apart

Copyright 2001 William M. Kuzmiak