The Great Battle of the March-fly Attack

We arrived, shall we say, about quarter to four,

At a campsite to affix our tent to the floor,

But how little we knew of the creatures in wait,

And of the battle ahead and our torturous fate.

It was sunny and cool when we chose to arrive,

In that wooded retreat where we stood to survive,

Yet all was to happen from our passing by,

And in thinking, “of course we can swat a one or two fly”.

Oh, how naïve we were of what was to come,

And life found us that eve, the glummest of glum,

So here we must tell of the tragedy that a fell,

Of the battle of the March-fly and that evening of hell.

We arrived, as I said, in the late afternoon,

Where the mid-summer air likened the northern high June,

And arrived at that site in moods merry and gay,

Unaware of the events to occur that same day.

…There came a buzzing from the trees and the ground,

And they began their attack, with their very first round.

In swarms they attacked, their squadrons in view,

Their many thousand against our pitiful few.

One, ‘slap’, two, ‘slap’, three, ‘slap’, four,

In as many swipes we had hoisted the banner of war,

On and on, came the hordes of our foes,

And our moods did lower to lowest of lows.

We fought, on and on, and the hours passed by,

Killing in cold blood each and every buzzing fly,

‘Til the hour was late and the ground bore the remains,

Of the thousand March-flies and their everlasting pains.

But still they came forth and battled without rest,

‘Til our bodies showed the marks of this unending pest.

And like all great leaders, we admitted defeat,

And ran with all might in tactical retreat.

So, in Sammy again, we owe a great debt,

In saving our lives and removing great threat,

And in safe retreat we gave an almighty cry,

Vowing never to meet again, that dreaded March-fly.