On the Fly

I was recently sitting in a hotel at the Dead Sea, ruminating about life, and observing an annoying fly who was about to die. So here are its last few words, as recorded by me, and which in turn I would like to dedicate to the late, great Ogden Nash who wrote the immortal poem:
"The Lord in his wisdom made the fly/And then forgot to tell us why."

On the Fly

I don't know why
I'm just a fly
I could have been a horse, of course,
A singing sow, a mellow cow,
I might have been an elephant
Or even more significant
ly
Mother Goose or fluffy Eider
Muffet's friendly little spider
A meely eel
A clapping seal
A heavy wren
Or even just a lousy louse
On the collar of a mouse;
But then again
There has to be
A reason why
A high
er
purpose
to reveal
Why I am not an ancient tortoise
Butterfly
Or any porpoise.

Someday I know
As cold winds blow
I shall grow old
So I've been told
On my last wings
While angels sing
The Cherubs sigh,
They shall draw nigh
Into my ear
The secret dear
They will
convey
The reason why
I'm just a very