I sat on the porch
In front of the house
Watching the flies buzz
Around a dead mouse.
He lay on his side
With tongue sticking out;
They walked on his ribs
And lit on his snout.
His four little legs
Stretched sadly in vain,
Never to run
Through the meadow again.

How did he feel
When he first met the cat?
I wondered: he lay there,
Stiff and so flat.
Did he react with a
Squeal of surprise?
Did he see his life flash
In the cat's eyes?
When sharp claws and teeth
Held him like a tomb,
Did he think, maybe, somehow,
He'd make it back home?

Suddenly,
I was approached by a fly,
That flew in my face
And lit near my eye.
He seemed self-assured,
Hungry and bold,
Like flies have seemed
Since before hills were old.
I tossed my head back
And shooed him away:
"Little fly", I said,
"Today's not the day".