I once did espy

From the side of my eye

A little black fly

As he flew through the sky

And that poor little fly

Had a sty in his eye.


“Would you like me to try,”

I said to the fly,

“To put balm on that sty

At the edge of your eye?


Then retorted the fly,

“Oh my goodness, oh my!

You would have to apply

your salve to my eye

As I fly through the sky.”


I said to the fly,

“I will try to comply,”

But he did not reply

From high up in the sky.


Now, I tell you no lie:

That fly did imply

That he could not rely

On the skill I’d apply

To the sty in his eye,

And thus did defy

My attempts to apply

Some relief to his eye

Up there in the sky.


Then I thought to belie

The fear of the fly

And have one last try

At relieving his eye.

So I caught the black fly

As he flew through the sky

And proceeded to apply

Antiseptic to his eye.


And the poor fly discovered, to his great disappointment

That this was the story of the fly in the ointment.

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