The Bee With Honey Combs Her Hair Poem by Jonathan ROBIN

The Bee with honey combs her hair
with yellow pollen pads,
in honour of the sun’s gold glare,
the golden pollen adds.

This she applies with special care –
‘tis one of her few fads –
to head and thorax, everywhere,
which her detractors mads.

Nectarine nectar necklace fair,
demanded by ‘light winged dryads’,
and furred abdomen cincture rare
masks caudad sting with which she’s clad.

Antennae waving in the air
send signals by the chiliad,
she has ‘no time to sit and stare’
copes, mopes not in jeremiads

Ant’s industry, with more to spare,
hive spirit strives without gonads
for common weal, she’ll, feeling, share -
an asset all admirers glads.

Sweetness for the shaggy bear,
hyrdromel for fair maenads,
without this worker who would bear?
who gold dust to hamadryads?

That she’s so fair and debonair
as on her jaunts she gads,
while they forbear their wings to tear, -
this each among them sads.

Thus idle drones to deep despair
she, heartless, drives, - poor lads -
in swarm-storm buzz, [s]trum_pet the air
in concert, tuned like strads.

How’er they fare, their one nightmare –
benighted Galahads -
is their reget so few can share
the joys of being dads!

The royal jelly she’ll prepare
with care so myriads
of future generations fare
as well as she by gad s!