Once in a while there comes a lass
Who will treasure & hold your heart like glass
And if you care for hers likewise
A fragile love’s the compromise
So this poem spurned a poetry off debate on my Facebook wall, one that I thought might be fun to share here:
A fly alive makes no one happy.
It feeds on faeces, which is rather crappy.
The fly you swatted and left for dead,
Will lousy disease no longer spread.