Swat

My life is simple, but it will do.
I'm happy for my day or two;
Slipping into grooves so small,
A crevice on a high up wall.
Flying high above the trees,
Turning slightly in the breeze.
Looking through my many eyes -
A secret agent in disguise.
I glide down on my fragile wings,
Drawn by the odour of tasty things.
The scent of food starts to grow;
I smell a meal down below.
All I want is to be fed.

Swat. I'm dead.