Leroy was an evil boy whose darkest impulse led

Not of mischief but of the devil was this young man bred

On insects most his darkest tortures did he often inflict

He preferred a beetle crushed to a yapping puppy kicked

His power was vast and his stature tall in his buggy empire

With magnifying glasses held to set small ants on fire

And salts poured upon the slugs so they’d all shrivel up in pain

And wings surgic’ly detached from flies in ways most inhumane
His parents found many ways to excuse their son’s budding sadism
”Well that’s my boy” “It’s just a phase” were lies given verbatim
Because neither of Leroy’s folks could cope with the harsh reality

Of a boy so young and yet so mired in small atrocity
And then one dark summer’s eve as Leroy went to bed

He heard a chirping noise that sent evil thoughts into his head

“It must be a grasshopper!” The young boy did exclaim

Leaping up from his sheets fully prepared to murder and to maim

But the chirping was followed by a host of other sounds beneath the floorboards

Of flies bizzing and locusts buzzing; an insectoid smorgasbord

The sounds grew to a roar now as their speaker slithered into the room

A vast and putrid creature clearly birthed from Satan’s womb

A large grey slug with compound eyes did the creature most resemble
With viscous sweat and a cloud of flies that made the young boy tremble

Beelzebub spoke out now in a voice forged in hell’s ice

Informing the young antagonist that his actions were quite un-nice

And then the fly lord pondered what punishment could be best

To bestow upon the boy who he did so clearly detest
Finally he chose one suiting the likeness which he bore

And upon the boy salts most diabolic did he pour

Leroy screamed out as the grains filled his mouth and eye

Before they sucked the moisture from him and his lungs began to dry

He began to shrivel now, quite quick, and his flesh let out a hiss

As he left this mortal plane to dive into death’s somber kiss

But not with angels or with hell-fire did his post-mortem fate lie

Instead he returned to our world as a pretty butterfly

And it may intrigue you to know that his fate is nothing new

Butterflies spawned of differing origins are actually quite few

So the next time you complain about the fly in your chicken broth

Always remember that you’ve never quite envied a moth