Little Fly - Esperanza Spalding

Little Fly

Thy summer’s play

My thoughtless hand

Has brushed away

Am I not

A fly like thee?

Or art thou not

A man like me?

For I dance

And drink, and sing

Till some blind hand

Shall brush my wing

If thought is life

And strength and breath

And the want

Of thought is death;

Then I am

A happy fly

If I live

Or if I die…