Esperanza Spalding

Little Fly

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Little fly
The summer's play
My thoughtless hand
Has brushed away

Am not i
A fly like thee
Or art not thou
A man like me
Little fly

For i dance
And drink and sing
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing


I thought is life
And strength and breath
And the want
Of thought is death
Little fly

Then am i
A happy fly
If i live
Or if i die


Writer/s: Esperanza Spalding / William Blake

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