Bee Cultivation

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Queen bee will never be
The one to fly till the last;
Someday to be a fly she has.
I see you, now, as you sit amidst an admiring flock
Addressing loony faces; and my jock

Is there, where it should be.
You know that I fan an internal
Perspiring me. Persevering to hold out
What to the world I ought. But, that
Is today, when, in 2010

You still have a year or two
To give directions to your
Mesmerized crew. But, that day, I see it half come
Around the corner, I see it, smirk as it stare:
When the curtain falls, finally; but, I would be there.

These are the hurdles of the steeplechase.
These are the contraction on tired limbs aching,
The more you go on, in spite of what’s faking,
Your pulse knows best; you choose
The clothes that you dress.

To an admiring flock, who carry about you bags
And curl your silken locks. They are lost in a stupor
In their dignity to be your trooper.
People steal glances as they pass,
Too full of ego to admit, too, they want it.



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