Formation bees
They have no eyes
So what's the point
You may surmise
Well if bees declared
To turn all random
And fly around
In gay abandon
Then bees would be
And it's a fact
A whirling, jiving
Cabaret act
Bees in straight lines
And bees in circles
Some going quite slow
While others hurtle
They'd be bruised bees
Quite black and blue
Not black and yellow
As is their due
So, as you see
While bees are blind
Formation bees
You'll always find
They'll stay quite tight
In two's and three's
While wafting gently
On the breeze.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem