A Question Of The Bee Poem by Madrason .

There's a row of cypresses
like a an army patrol standing still
a little boy ignites some fire on the hill
the line is broken and silence too
and all the firepower after you
a mistake in a break by a crack
a track that is broken in a song
nothing beats fear
though it be wrong
it stands like a sharp rock
amidst it and strong
it cuts all the truths, goods
and all understoods
and takes a stand against this tide
knows how to seek and how to hide
if life where a dollar or quarter a penny at least
but if it is nothing it's fed to the beasts
the peace has been killed and prices have risen
the blank clouds, virgin woods it all ‘s just a prison
if honesties mouths keep on foaming
those politicians shall become our priests
mercenaries for a better world
the stones are falling and so are the trees
the bees are dying and no more roaming
for spreading true fertility
it is a question of The Bee
or not to Be, you see! M