Flies

They bug you, but don't hurt
They land, but don't sting
They are brown and black
Those annoying things

The pss, and they zss
Though not very loud
They can fly high
Though not to the clouds

They can take your food
In which you paid good money
They can take bread, and snacks
And turkey and honey

You try to swat them
But they're sneaky creatures
They don't care who you are
Whether Bill Gates or teacher

They land on your ears
Your mouth or your toes
They land on your fingers
Your arms and your nose

Ones flying around
A book that you read
You go for the kill
Now that fly is dead