Published Thu Jul 11, 2019 | Posted in Poetry | By Linda Jenkinson |
Fly, little fly buzz round my head.
One little swat, fly is dead.
‘Squiter, ‘squiter bite my hide.
One little slap and ‘squiter died.
Wood tick buried in my toe.
One little match and pop you go!
Bee, little bee hums round my shin.
If he stings just once, can’t sting again.
Surely science could find some drug
To keep us all from being bugged!
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