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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required We’d been fishing in the Shady for some crays up in the hills, where you fight the blackberry and elude the snake with skills, were leeches have the power of near sucking all your blood, and you cannot tell the difference - is it quicksand or mud? Then there is the silent march fly and mosquitoes with their sting, or we might confront the bull ant and the anguish it can bring, and of course a cray can grab you with its power-laden claw, so when we go crayfishing there’s not much we can ignore. The stinging nettles will defy us and wild cattle have no trust, and there’s the chance of falling limbs from just a gentle gust, so now you see when fishing here upon the pristine forest floor, we didn’t need the added bonus of someone enforcing law. We never heard this fellow coming so of course he had us flat, and without a fishing licence we were squarely on the mat. He was rude and arrogant; worse than the terrors of the bush, and the way he talked he darn near earnt an answer in the ‘moosh’. But while booking us upon the spot by writing what we said, he’s having trouble with the bush flies that buzzed around his head. Then he spoke with words aside, “By Jove the flies are bad!” “Yeah” I said, “Those circle flies can sometimes drive you mad”. “Circle flies!” His pen went still. “Why do you call them circle flies?” Then I knew I had the mongrel by the glazed look in his eyes … I said that they’re a farming fly not usually found out in this place for they circle ‘round a horses backside - you should have seen his face! He dropped his pen and glared at me; his hackles raised no end, “Are you calling me a horse’s backside?” That forced me to defend, “No fear I’m not!” Was my reply and then I stared into his eyes, “But I suppose you must agree - we can’t fool the circle flies”.
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