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Title: Musca Domestica
Author: Bert Leston Taylor [
More Titles by Taylor]
Baby bye, here's a fly,
We will watch him, you and I;
Lest he fall in Baby's mouth,
Bringing germs from north and south.
In the world of things a-wing
There is not a nastier thing
Than this pesky little fly;--
So we'll watch him, you and I.
See him crawl up the wall,
And he'll never, never fall;
Save that, poisoned, he may drop
In the soup or on the chop.
Let us coax the cunning brute
To the tempting Tanglefoot,
Or invite his thirsty soul
To the poison-paper bowl.
I believe with six such legs
You or I could walk on eggs;
But he'd rather crawl on meat
With his microbe-laden feet.
Eggs would hardly do as well--
He could not get through the shell;
Better far, to spread disease,
Vegetables, meat, or cheese.
There he goes, on his toes,
Tickling, tickling Baby's nose.
Heaven knows where he has been,
And what filth he's wallowed in.
Drat the nasty little wretch!
He's the deuce and all to ketch.
Ah! He's settled on the wall.
Now the thunderbolt shall fall!
Baby bye, see that fly?
We will swat him, you and I.
[The end]
Bert Leston Taylor's poem: Musca Domestica
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