The Little Fly #77601
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The Little Fly. Verses and poems by Sigurður Elíasson.
The little fly
A stream gently trickles over the smooth stones.
A small violet grows by a landslide.
A broken shell lies between the rocks.
In the town, an overgrown snot rests.
And if I had become a little fly
I looked out the window, exhausted by my flight.
And although I could do nothing else,
I could probably tickle your nose.
The little fly
A stream gently trickles over the smooth stones.
A small violet grows by a landslide.
A broken shell lies between the rocks.
In the town, an overgrown snot rests.
And if I had become a little fly
I looked out the window, exhausted by my flight.
And although I could do nothing else,
I could probably tickle your nose.