I am a busy little fly

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I’m a busy little fly, I can see through my eyes

Not just one, but twenty things, no wonder I whirl round in rings

Is that the door, no it’s not. It’s the old brown tea pot

A window I can never find, on the TV I do land

On I whirl around your home, from place to place I do roam

Finally discover the way out, after avoiding a newspaper clout

Mary Mitchell