"My Goodness," quoth the little fly
upon the kitchen wall,
"I've come over all dizzy,
I think I'm going to fall.
It must be something that I ate,
or something in the air,
I'm clinging here quite desperately,
it's really most unfair.
But see below, I think I spy
a bowl filled up with cake,
and I reckon If I launch with care,
my fall it's sure to break."

So knowing this and feeling faint
and somewhat in a fix,
the fly dropped in a gentle glide;
but failed to spot the whisk.
It mixed him round, then round again,
amidst the eggs a flour,
which treament caused him awful pain,
plus disposition sour.
And then the final twist came by;
fly's fate was sealed and dire,
for mother baked the luscious cake
and caused him to expire.

A short time later all seemed well,
the cake stood crisply proud,
and mother called her children in,
who praised with thanks so loud.
Then with a smile she cut the cake,
her knife so sharp and clear,
raised a slice towards her pretty lips,
saw a currant that looked queer.
It had a kind of gruesome charm,
plus a hairy bit or two,
and as her pearly whites bit in,
it crunched like gone off glue.

Dear mother gave a puzzled frown,
her children raised a cry.
"Oh Mum! Oh Yuk!," they yelled as one,
"That looks just like a fly."
Poor mother screamed, then fainted,
fell face down in the cake,
and died from suffocation
for her unfortunate mistake.
The moral of this little tale?
Well, revenge is sweet they say,
and dear mother and the little fly
flew to heaven that same day.