One day as I cleaned out my uncle's pig sty
I gleaned this advice from a talkative fly:
Never eat butter you got from a pig.
Hogs may well fool you by wearing a wig.

I then made a brief mental note to be wary
Of people whose ears were unusually hairy,
Especially those bringing butter or cheese,
Whose scent comes before them when there's a strong breeze.

The fly said he'd learnt many lessons on life
From having a mind that's as sharp as a knife
And thousands of eyes that bring visual thrills,
Enhancing well-honed observational skills.

A dangerous, highly-trained spy, he is not.
He looks like a bland, inconspicuous dot
When he plays the role of the fly on the wall.
It's one of the numerous perks of being small.

He told me some stories that raised my eyebrows.
'Moo's of surprise could be heard from the cows.
Tales of affairs and of vengeance were told,
And stories of fools who were digging for gold.

I doubted the truth of a few of his tales.
He told me of people who surf clouds in gales,
And babies who hatched out of turnips at night.
By dawn they'd have learnt how to swim and to fight.

But most of the stories seemed truthful and real.
He said he had news of a poor sap called Neil
Whose girlfriend, Amanda, was cheating on him.
She'd fallen in love with a man at the gym.

Each evening they'd meet wearing brilliant disguises.
They often engaged in averting a crisis
When they faced a meeting with someone they knew.
Bushes or hedges would hide them from view.

He often dressed up as a priest with a beard.
Wild hair made him look like a beast to be feared.
She'd be a maid in a black and white dress.
In front of onlookers she'd watch as he'd bless

The sea and the sky and the birds in a tree,
A curious cat and a troublesome knee.
They'd go to a place hidden from prying eyes,
Where they could emerge from behind their disguise,

Discarding their clothes in a boathouse as night
Approached and provided the right sort of light
For people who'd rather avoid being seen.
Darkness provides an appropriate screen.

One night they were shocked to be caught in the act
By an admirable man with remarkable tact.
He owned this old boathouse, but he didn't stay.
He said 'Sorry Father' and hurried away.

Neil didn't know about any of this.
Ignorance often is needed for bliss.
She told him that she was conducting research
Into the history of her local church.

This was the story the little fly told.
It sounded familiar. It left my heart cold.
I told him that I was the Neil in his tale
And I'd been so blind I would have to learn Braille.

The fly was embarrassed. He said he must leave
To fly into windows with his best friend Steve.
I couldn't believe I'd accepted her lies.
I'd never remarked on her maid-like disguise.

But what could I do? It seemed far too late
For action. I had to accept my sad fate.
You'll drive yourself mad if you keep asking 'why?'.
I just wish I hadn't been told by a fly.