The Wealthy Blowfly Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

My safe was hidden in the wall,
I had cemented it inside,
but in that year, in early Fall
I tagged along for a brief ride
in a Mercedes six-point-nine.

Was hooked on it in nothing flat
I whispered to her 'you'll be mine',
and started counting dough at that.
So, after working with the pick
retrieved the safe to grab the gold
I looked inside, poked with a stick
to scrape the dust off and the mould.

And then I saw him, all intact,
a blowfly of a hefty size.
Just sitting there, though dead, in fact
he looked at me with saddened eyes.
One foot was sitting on a pile,
all notes of high denomination.
I counted them and in a while
a most unusual sensation
took hold of me and then I learned,
that this big fly had been delirious
'cause when his life had been adjourned,
he sat upon a pile, I'm serious
of riches and could claim to be
the rightful owner, rather clever.
He never worried about me
and was the richest blowfly ever.