"Brain-Death Is Real Death" *

Two flies in the sunshine, happily hoovering horrible juices oozing out of something disgusting. Happy MsQ, enjoying the sunshine also and grateful to have found a nicely-lit subject that interests her. :)

The Fly

Little Fly
Thy summer's play,
My thoughtless hand
Has brush'd away.

Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?

For I dance
And drink & sing;
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.

If thought is life
And strength & breath;
And the want
Of thought is death;

Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live,
Or if I die.

William Blake

A carpe diem sort of verse. :)

*A comment on the poem by critic Paul Miner