The Catskill Fly Speaks of the Hiker – November 2019

I land on the hand that tried to swat me,

The hand of the hiker who swore he got me.


At morn my swarm and I

While sweating hikers swat
and flail.


Though necks and ears can

This hungry foraging Catskill fly


Most enjoys a clever twist,

Near a wrist,

Perhaps, on which to sit;


And then enjoy the irony:

The hiker can’t land a hand
on me.


For flies the adage just never holds true

You always bite the hand that feeds you.


By Donald Knies