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1879–1954

MR. FLY.

Erwin Clarkson Garrett

There's a nice stiff breeze ablowing, Mr. Fly; That keeps from out my trench. The decomposing stench

Of a soldier, Boche or French, Mr. Fly. So please run off and play, Mr. Fly.

So please run off and play Like a good fly, right away, For I want to sleep today, Mr. Fly.

I'm dozing like a bull-finch, Mr. Fly, When you hop me, unaware, And I wake and swat and swear,

And you return with thoughtful care, Mr. Fly. Ca n't you see I'm very tired, Mr. Fly?

That the G. I. Cans do n't bust, And I've nibbled on a crust, And deserve a snooze, I trust, Mr. Fly.

Do you think it's square and decent, Mr. Fly, When the Cooties cease to bite, ( And there is no sleep at night )

That you give me no respite, Mr. Fly? An hour's calm is with us, Mr. Fly;

And the endless battle strain, And the shelling and the rain, Ought to make it very plain, Mr. Fly —

That I need a little nap, Mr. Fly. That I do need mighty well Just to sun and rest a spell,

And to sleep here where I fell, Mr. Fly. So have a heart, oh have a heart! Mr. Fly.

If you're looking for a fight And you must come‘ round and bite, Make your visit in the night, Mr. Fly.

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MR. FLY. · Erwin Clarkson Garrett · Poetry Cove