I’m the fly in the hall,

By the wall,

Drifting-

Like a dandelion’s seed on a gentle breeze,

Flailing like a cat’s tail,

Wishing-

For solid ground where my feet lay,

Somewhere to stay, to pray

Before I’m taken by a wailing gale,

Like a failing sail sounding an ailing wail,

A fervent, furious, futile flap.

Spinning-

So it goes,

Going where the wind blows,

Not the direction I chose, I suppose;

I’m on my toes in my throes,

I don’t slow in the flow,

Where I’m going doesn’t matter,

Like the guys on the other side, and their chatter,

If I ride the storm, I’ll find a swarm,

Somewhere warm,

I’m sure.