Look at them busey bees,
working for mother hive.
I sit here a waiting wasp,
ready to strike.
Quickly working, without thought,
For if something is wrong Mother Bee will be upset,
they will surely be scared.
She will send my way
To punish the wrong, the wicked,
and anyone she so choses.
Oh how they irritate me so, especally what they did to my mother...
My mother was a busy bee,
father a wasp.
They loved ech other so much,
those bees did not.
One day Mother bee sent for mother,
she did not come back though.
Father and I got worried, he went to search for her,
soon I for him.
I found him amoungst the busey bees, mother not in sight.
As i got closer, I saw he fell apart...
Then, they proceded to eat him.
As i cried to myself, while running back to my empty home, that was when I became Mother hive's dedicated murdurer.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.