小小的蠅兒

        你夏日的遊戲

        已被我的手

        不慎拂去了

        難道我不是

        你一樣的蠅嗎?

        你不也是

        我一樣的人嗎?

        我喝酒跳舞

        唱唱歌曲

        直到盲目的手

        擦傷我翅翼

        若思想是生命

        力量和呼吸

        而思想貧乏

        就等於死去

        那我就是隻

        幸福的蠅

        不管我活著

        還是死了

        Little Fly

        thy summers play

        My tless hand

        has brushd away.

        Am not I

        A fly like thee?

        Or art not thou

        A man like me?

        For I dance

        And drink & sing;

        till some blind hand

        Shall brush my wing.

        If t is life

        And strength:

        And t

        Of t is death;

        then am I

        A happy fly,

        If I live,

        Or if I die.
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