Light hearted and surreal take on seeing purpose in life from a most unglamorous insect.

My work is hectic hi tech, our office sterile grey,
We sit at snug work stations and gaze at screens all day.
One dismal winter’s afternoon, I drifted off to dream,
Of walking in bright sunshine by sparkling, crystal stream.
I passed through flower filled meadows where resting cattle lay.
Then settled in that moment, near fields of new mown hay.

I sat beneath a chestnut tree. What followed is no joke.
As from a nearby cow pat a little dung fly spoke.
“Good afternoon, excuse me.” it said, in scene absurd
“You have a sad demeanour, I’m down here on this turd.”

Please listen. I’m not barmy, that voice I swear I heard
Was different, not like yours or mine, perhaps a thought transferred?
Delighted to have caught my ear, while on the dung it sat.
Fly said, “You seem most troubled. Perhaps you’d like to chat?”

I woke, back in the office and glanced around to see,
If any of my colleagues were keen on watching me.
All clear, again I settled and nodded off once more,
Hoping for a quick return, though now a touch unsure.

The strange thing that I should reveal, amidst this scene beyond surreal.
That fly seemed to be genuine, I’d even say sincere.

Though nervous I said “Thank you. Please do not interfere.”
“Come on” it said, “You’re worried, the trappings of success,
Do not conceal your spirit, that sir is quite a mess.”

“You really are too forward. I wish to be alone.
I’m comfortable and most content. It’s time to check my phone.”

“Hark at you, all precious. Relax……. Let me explain.
I am here to guide you and may not come again.

Yes, I am a simple dung fly with body brown and neat.
To me appearance matters, it detracts from smelly feet.
On summer days, I savour, buzzing in the sun,
With friends I settle quickly upon the freshest dung.
We follow cows and horses, then tease some passers-by,
Who close their mouths and mutter. Oh shoo, disgusting fly.
No thought as to our feelings or thanks for all we do,
Suppose there were no maggots, who would eat the poo?
When young, as lively maggot, those carefree days I’d munch,
High fibre dung for breakfast, then more as wholesome lunch.
Now adult and more thoughtful, I tend to contemplate,
On life and dodging youngsters who turn up keen to mate.

My life, I know is unlike yours, no glamour, travel, stress,
Yet I have found contentment and purpose, that’s the best.
We dung flies all have found our role, it’s obvious and clear.
You humans see no reason as to why you’re really here.

Watching you, we’re saddened, by frantic lives and ways.
Part of our contentment is savouring our days.
You focus on your body, occasionally the mind,
The knack is know your spirit and all it needs to find.

Consider busy dung flies who view you with concern.
Then think about your spirit, forget what you may earn.
I know it may seem nonsense a dung fly as a seer.
Please stop. Create a moment,
Then ask, ‘Why am I here?’
That’s it, why on this planet, right here this very day?
What do you bring and will you learn in this your latest stay?

That’s all, it’s good to meet you, I hope we keep in touch.
I appreciate you listening, some find this all too much.

Last week I appealed to a bishop, it was both amusing and odd.
He felt that my voice was a hotline, that connected him straight through to God.
I wish he would settle and let me explain, it wasn’t divine from on high,
Merely me trying to help him, while sat on a cow pat nearby.

By now, I was utterly tongue tied. Fly smiled as it sat by my side.
I nodded my head, as in thank you, still feeling intrigued and surprised.

My head had sagged over the keyboard, I woke with a start and a snore,
Much laughter arose in the office, some queueing to peer round the door.

Relaxing later, at home with my wife, wishing to share my strange news.
I asked if she’d thought of life’s purpose, as someone at work had some views.
She laughed, “You have got to be kidding, they only talk football and beer”.
‘Oh, this was a recent arrival, who’d flown in and sounded sincere.’