Little Black Fly

This is about my daughters father and our constant struggle to play nice. I don't wish he was dead, though, just nicer.

 

You fly to my picnic, and buzz around my head I wave my hand at you and wish that you were dead Only to return again, you bear no added shame And now I ask you this question, "Why must we play this game?"

Reviews

[Angel's Lady]

How perfectly you've written this, though! Great job!

[Prose-full]

i like this...not just about flies...ahhh, i see it..
this is great..