“Fly” Day

 

The Fly

Little fly,

Thy summer’s play

My thoughtless hand

Has brushed away.

 

Am not I

A fly like thee?

Or art not thou

A man like me?

 

For I dance

And drink and sing,

Till some blind hand

Shall brush my wing.

 

If thought is life

And strength and breath,

And the want

Of thought is death,

 

Then am I

A happy fly,

If I live,

Or if I die.

               By William Blake

 

I Heard a Fly Buzz (465)

I heard a Fly buzz – when I died – 

The Stillness in the Room

Was like the Stillness in the Air – 

Between the Heaves of Storm –

 

The Eyes around – had wrung them dry – 

And Breaths were gathering firm

For that last Onset – when the King

Be witnessed – in the Room – 

 

I willed my Keepsakes – Signed away

What portions of me be

Assignable – and then it was

There interposed a Fly – 

 

With Blue – uncertain stumbling Buzz – 

Between the light – and me – 

And then the Windows failed – and then

I could not see to see –

                                  By Emily Dickinson