Death Of A Fly
S
Sheena Blackhall
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Who says that flies don't mourn?
Has anyone asked them?
Some die beautifully,
Folding their black legs over their bodies
Like Catholic ballerinas
This one's a perfect mummy
In his frail Egyptian wrappings
His thin papyrus wings
His glittering eyes, all-seeing
Like spherical disco balls
Dusted by death
Let moths whisper a coronach
Over the laced-up husk of Mr. Bluebottle
The herringbone-stitch of
One fly's sable shroud.
Bu şiiri puanla
Henüz puan verilmemiş