T H E
B LU E
B O T T L E
F LY
Do I make myself clear Said the Boar to the Deer As they grazed in the night in the forest A surfeit of worms Even on the best terms Is not healthy unless you’re a florist To quite understand it You must roll in a sandpit To make all your fleas swiftly scarper And then you’ll see why The Blue Bottle Fly Has a mind that is palpably sharper
Well you know I’m not sure Said the Deer to the Boar It all sounds like tommyrot really No florist eats worms Even on the best terms, Though fleas flee and flies do fly quite freely But how in the night Even with an owl’s sight Could I tell it was blue and thus smarter So frankly my friend, I must say in the end All this nonsense is just a non-starter.
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