Once upon a sunny time in a comfy field, there sat a bald guy, basking in the warm sun like he was at the world's best beach party. You know, he was as bald as a peeled potato, but that didn't bother him. He was just enjoying the soft breeze, probably humming some catchy tune.

"Ah, this is the life," the bald man thought, loving the warm sun on his skin.

Then, like a tiny buzzing ninja, in zooms a fly, going right for the top of Mr. Bald's head, the perfect landing pad.

"Hey, buzz off, would ya?" the bald man said, trying to swat the fly with a flick of his hand.

"Missed me!" the fly buzzed, doing a little loop-de-loop in the air like it was the star of its own airshow. "Ugh!" The bald man was getting really annoyed now. He was as fidgety as a cat near a bathtub. He looked around and saw a big rock. "Ah-ha! That should do it!"

The fly hovered nearby, thinking, "He's not really gonna do it, is he?"

Lifting the rock over his head like he was some kind of superhero, the bald man shouted, "For the love of sunshine!" and—WHAM!—down came the rock right onto his own noggin.

"Ouchie!" the bald man yelped. Now, he had a big owie on his head and probably wished he had some ice cream to make it better. The fly, meanwhile, buzzed away, laughing so hard he had to hold his tiny fly belly. "Oh, man! That was even better than I thought!"

And there the bald man sat, maybe rethinking some of his choices, with nothing but a bruise to show for it. You could almost hear the chuckles from every flower and blade of grass around him.

Baldy sat, the sun so bright,
Feeling happy, feeling light.
Here comes a fly, zooming near,
Lands on his head, oh dear, oh dear!

The fly tickles, buzz and zip,
Baldy's not a fan of this little trip.
He waves his hand to shoo it away,
But the fly just thinks it's time to play.

"No more!" says Baldy, a little mad,
Time for a plan, but oh, it's bad.
He picks a rock from off the ground,
Hoping the fly will soon be found.

Bang, oh no, he missed the mark,
A big ouchie, this isn't a lark.
The fly zips off, saying "Bye, gotta flee!"
Leaves Baldy there, as sad as can be.

"I goofed," says Baldy, rubbing his head,
Wishing the fly had gone elsewhere instead.
He learned that day, as we all should,
Rushing won't bring anything good.