The Fly Who Walked

A fly walks into a bar,
Clutching a solitary dinar.
Says it's walked far,
All the way from Myanmar.

It holds a cigar,
Unlit; and a chocolate bar,
Made in Cote D'Ivoire.
And it talks about a star.

A bright shooting star,
That it saw in the month of Adar,
By the great city of Ulaan Baatar.
It buzzes for many an hour.

Of its quest, from the great Bazaar,
As it walked, to the dry deserts of Qatar.
A tiring hunt in search of an elusive star.
The bartender stares, his jaws ajar.

"I don't wish to spar,
And I really don't care who you are.
But I find this all rather bizarre.
Why didn't you just rent a car?"

The End

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