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THE PLUCKY PLEA OF A HOUSEFLY

I live in you, Creator of the Sky,
I am a tiny thing; you're God Most High.
Did you my shape design, my beauty give?
My legs, my wings, my appetite to live?

You did!  You made me multiple and bold --
We are a hundred thousand kinds I'm told
And plucky too, and will refuse to die:
Though swatted hard, we still get up and fly.

We're all alike in drawing life from you
But different in the kind of work we do:
My cousins Dragon-, Butter-, Gad-, and Tsetse-
All have the mandatory count of feetsie,
Six -- and dual wings to raise in prayer,
But after that, there's not much likeness there.

Some flies are pink, some brown or white or black,
Some are Chinese, East African, Slovak,
Some pester Catholics, some get Methodists,
Some go for Jews, Muslims, or Zen Buddhists:
Yet we're one family since we come from You --
And move toward just one destination too.
  
So I accept the challenge of my life,
Great God, to live without complaint or strife,
In all my ups and downs to give you praise,
And may you fly beside me all my days.  




from the forthcoming book Prayers of 100 Animals A to Z, by William Cleary

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