A poem beginning with Betjeman’s words: ‘Come heavenly bombs and fall on…’
Come heavenly bombs and fall on flies!
Their irksome buzzing stupefies
All sense, so hasten their demise
And pulverise the lot!
Their vile proboscises protrude
And, being creatures coarse and crude,
They spit saliva on our food
Along with heaven knows what!
Oh for a world with flies deceased.
They serve no purpose in the least
Except to pester man and beast
And give us endless grief.
Sweet missiles spring one last surprise:
Rain down in mercy from the skies
And blast away these frightful flies
To bring us all relief!
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