Park lunch

I sit in the park and watch flies feasting on a shit
Brown honey of a variety I don't like one bit
A warm bad smell of a fetid foul flower
Beckons Beelezebub's serfs with its pungent powers
A hive of flies all different in size
With no question of objection in their act of digestion
The swarm nibbles on through the faecal carrion
Each one dancing like a rancid Bacchanalian
The crappy carcas already slain when deployed
An offering of sacrifce to be chewed and enjoyed
For the flies it is a banquet with robust flavours
For me it is a meal I would wish to waiver