Why oh why
    wonders the Widow Wyile
                is she on
                    the
                    fly?

bzzt bzzt it is so
wings she will have
buzzing her from here house
to where and there place
even as clock time has
fallen back
night hours expand
light watt bulbs ever attractive
off   or   on
porridge mornings accrue
with increasing cold
the pace
she thinks
  could slow

yet bzzt bzzt
shiver your liver
those composite eyes
seeing where this
when that here
goes past rest
translucent wings aflap
until finally she
squats sleepily warmed
by the flickering hearth
             resting up
               from flitting
          like a bit nit
              trying to keep
                     her wits