Herbert The Fly Killer

We sit beneath blue, sunny skies,
In garden cool with pleasant shade,
And spend our spare time strafing flies.
With cunning weapon, neatly made.

A wire mesh, that's thin but strong,
Fixed secure upon a handle,
The gem complete's not two feet long,
Very soothing 'tis to dandle,

Affording comfort to one's soul,
In life's continual buzzing medley;
For Herbert, in the title role,
Is so delightful, sure and deadly.

At lower edge he wears a band
Of some sombre, strong material,
And down the centre there's a strand
Of wire left out, a streak ethereal.

Herbert, for markmanship, requires
There shall be just one condition:
The enemy, ere he expires,
Must have taken up position.

Then Herbert, in his owner's hand,
Swoops down like aircraft from the sky,
And, by the thickness of his band,
Deceives the would-be 'scaping fly,

Which has no time to realise,
Though so slow mere human flesh is,
Our Herbert's simply death on flies.
There's no passage through his meshes.

And thus our Herbert does his bit,
A first-class weapon in his line;
Hard-worked, he takes his share of it.
The last Crusade in Palestine,

Meascar. "Ake Ake".