You heard a fly buzz—when you died—
You were still in the room—
I said I wasn’t there—I lied—
I came to share your doom.
I meant to fly around and leave
But someone said it was you
I thought—therefore—that I should grieve
But first--for fun—I’d buzz you.
So here I fly—just interposing
In your poem to make a hash of
But here is Death—I must be closing.
And now—Miss D.—I’ll dash off.