a poem by Westly Alexander Shaw, USA

On a sunny day , they were busy as can be,
gathering pollen for making honey.
Flying back and force, all dressed in black,
bees breeze by.
Busy as a bee should be, and yet their no bigger
then a pea.

A dozens , busy, buzzing bees, taking off and
landing , as if a Halloween witch on her broom.
Drifting in the air sweeter then any perfume, was
our roses all in bloom.

Humming, and coming towards my Mother,
who was busy as a bee, at work in her garden.
Those swarm of bees form the letter V. and came
right towards her.
Her screams were louder then mine, when I
awaken from one of my nightmare dreams.

Zoom, no cause for doom, as they just flew by to
parts unknown.
And I wondered, bumble bees so humble,
why are you not angry?
If I was minding my own business and
someone seem too scream and wave their arms
right at me. With no rhyme or reason that I
could see, I sure would be!

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