The Blue Bottle Fly

THE BLUE BOTTLE FLY

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.

“If you’ll pardon me, please” Called an Owl from the trees There are some things I really must tell you All I see’s black and white Though I hear you alright By good luck I’m unable to smell you”

“Now the Blue Bottle Fly Waits ‘til living things die So its larvae once laid won’t annoy them Not like those damned fleas That drink blood, bring disease All one wishes to do is destroy them”

“With worms in the ground There’s flowers all around The florist is happy in clover” “It all sounds quite foul” Said the Deer to the Owl I’ll need to think all of this over

Said the Deer to the Boar As they foraged some more Giving thought to the Owl and his statement “He seemed very wise But the biggest surprise He spoke English without any accent!”

“There’s a reason for that” Said a tree-hanging Bat A scouser by the tone of his voice Owl went to college Picked up all his knowledge They say he’s read all of James Joyce

But wasn’t Joyce Irish Said the Boar somewhat churlish Glad he got to play Trivial Pursuit The Deer was quite lost His quoit was long tossed His attention caught up tugging roots

The Bat said “there’s more Owl knew Dumbledore When at Hogwarts he doubled as Hedwig Where Bluebottles too Were broomsticks that flew And Hagrid sent Harry some earwigs!

Said the Deer to the Boar I can’t take any more This ruminating’s making me thirsty There’s a small pub nearby Serves a nice whisky dry The barmaid’s a friend, her name’s Kirstie

They just took a mo Cos they needed to go After eating and gorging aplenty Then off they did trot To the Old Trough and Pot Where last orders they call at ten twenty

Said the Boar to the Deer Happy sipping his beer Pondering all to which they’d born witness “What a wonderful night It turned out alright Now it’s your turn to tip our fine waitress!

Whilst The Blue Bottle Fly With his large beady eyes Buzzed down to the floor of the glade Where, like it or not He dumped his maggots In the mines that the two friends had laid

Which all goes to show That whatever you know The food chain’s one part of the picture While we all look ahead It still has to be said Be aware of what goes on behind yer