Though I fully and cheerfully admit that the "F" wordplay poem isn't nearly as good as the poem of the same title by John Donne; nevertheless, it's one of my favorite poems in AN ANGEL ARDENTLY ACHED TO KNOW. In the color version of the illustration, the flea comes across much more clearly. Anyway, Here it is:
When with my finger I flicked it and it was flung far away
From my furry old feline who slept by the bay,
The flea flopped in a fir tree, then fell on a flower
Where a bee had been foraging for a full half an hour.
"You're a funny little thing who on me
You're not green like a forest,
and you're as small as pollen,
Yet you're fast -- in flight you're fabulously fleet;
You fashionably with your four back feet.
Though you don't feel cold
like the freezing frost,
I bet you're frightened; I bet you're lost,"
Said the flower, this flower, in a feathery voice,
Flavored with summer, fully fragrant and moist,
Flavored with summer,