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  • Tiny fly, why do you try

    To suicide in soup?

    Life’s too short, so don’t resort

    To dying in such goop.

    Upon that ledge, the bowl’s round edge,

    You sit, and wait for – what?

    Perhaps you think, so near the brink,

    The soup might be too hot?

    Perhaps you frown, because to drown

    In thin soup isn’t macho?

    This alphabetti is too petty,

    You’d prefer gesapcho!

    This poet’s bowl, just like her soul,

    Is looking far too clear.

    Oh tiny fly, you blink, then fly

    Away. Goodbye, my dear!
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