WHEN THE RAIN COMES

and it stays almost all day, I look around in the garden. And the only creature I see is this fly (next to the four, every minute growing caterpillars) a poor one indeed.
Piet Hein and I set out for a walk, why should we not, but we returned soon enough. For a while we sat on a bench under a roof, hoping for the best.
The best did not reveal itself.

My haiku:

On a flower a fly
Wet as wet can be and who
Will be her rescue?

And the proverb:

Not worth a fly.

1297  R. Gloucester, 428.