It Flies Poem by Phil Soar

This fly has got to die
I'll kill it as it whizzes by
The room has become a battleground
Buzzing, Buzzing, all around
I thought at winter they all died
But this one's taken to the skies
Inside the house it's flight-path grows
Fly-bys passing by my nose
I try and squat with all my might
But all it does is change it's flight
It lands, and I get off my chair
To try and kill it everywhere
It dives when I go anywhere
Lands, when I am 'over there'
The pesky thing is so damn fit
It scares me just a little bit
It carries infectious germs and then
Spreads them around the house again
But it will not defeat my plan
To make this fly an 'also ran'
If it's still alive as this rhyme ends
It'll probably have a hundred friends