Why did the dragonfly flee?

The dragonfly, whose name was Flo,

had an itch, she scratched it so,

it was a flea, ‘It’ll have to go!’

But a tiny flea is hard to find,

it’s always, always upon your mind;

and with great big claws,

and fiery breath,

Flo burnt and scratched herself to death.

.

‘But, that’s so sad!’ I hear you cry,

‘Why did poor Flo have to die?’

Truth be told, she never existed,

my creative writing a creature enlisted –

tales are told of made up things,

fleas with kites, dragonflies with swings

and in other far off made-up stories,

upon different days,

Flo and the flea,

just parted ways.

.

And a point you make

upon my tale:

‘It was a dragonfly,

and not a dragon,

have you been sipping from the flagon,

swigging too much ale?’

‘You caught me out!’

I drunkenly reply,

‘But, when was the last time you saw a dragon fly,

perhaps fleas are the reason why.’

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