The Fly...

by Ann Drysdale

found after the last poetry reading
in the Old Chapel, Calstock...

Little fly
Who dared presume
In this
Deconsecrated room

To add your
Descant’s zizzing glee
To some old
Poet’s threnody

Your simple day
Enjoyed alone
Is but a mirror
Of my own

Here I hover
Just like you
We are ephemeral
We two

From joyful rise
To sad decline
Drowning in
Discarded wine

Much of Ann Drysdale’s writing can be obtained by contacting the author via