Monday, February 11, 2008


The flowers trusted the bees no more,
not wanting to part with sweet nectar in store.
An apathy leaden fragrance they wore,
mercy was denied, as they slammed shut the door.

The reason was unknown, for this fulminant furor,
elders guessed, greed had come to the fore.
Little did they expect, this intense abhor,
crestfallen, defeated, the queen implored.

Starved, parched, they fell on the floor,
tried their best, but pain couldnt be ignored.
Hoping against hope, that normalcy would be restored,
but the wise ones knew it was doom galore.

Amidst this plague, came a pack of four,
called themselves humans, arrived a heavy uproar.
They plucked the weak flowers, who wreathed in the gore,
into 'em delicate petals, these satans tore.

The queen summoned her comrades to settle a score,
'our friends are in trouble, whom we forever adore!',
said she and sped, the air ahead she tore,
the humans were stung, their skins were bored.

They fled into the wild, like never before,
the flowers wept, with gratitude they swore.
They promised the bees, golden days of yore,
the bees knew, trust had been restored.

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