ODE TO A FISH FLY

When a fishfly is once granted its penultimate wish,
To escape altogether the land of the fish,
To take up new form, that took months to arrive at,
With gossamer wings and no parts except private,
And a mission to mate (oh yes, it does sound "vulgah"),
But mostly to search for some fishfly vulva,
And the rest, we suppose, for fishfly prepuces,
Merely to ensure that the species reproduces.

The result of these labours, an annual occasion,
Means to suffer the pains of a fishfly invasion,
With buildings all plastered and roads gross and greasy,
The crunch of their bodies makes strong stomachs turn queasy,
But it is said they cannot bite, so there is nothing to fear,
Still it makes for the longest two weeks of the year...