The busy bee, bright brown and yellow, Flits from flower to flower in industrial glee, With not a care in the world. Just like my neighbour, Mrs Cassidy.
The busy bee, ungainly and urgent, Buzzes and bounces against glass panes, Knocking and fussing. Just like my neighbour, Mrs Cassidy.
I should probably explain, my neighbour Mrs Cassidy keeps bees. Hives of them, all along the fence between our gardens, despite complaints from all the neighbourhood and in blatant disregard of three bylaws.
The busy bee, content with its work, Returns to the riotous stinging hive, Waking me up every night. Just like my neighbour, Mrs Cassidy.
The busy bee, so joyful in summer Becomes so lethargic in winter. I slip on ice because she refuses to put down sand. Just like my neighbour, Mrs Cassidy.
The busy bee, bright brown and yellow. So fragile, is alas susceptible to cyanide, Like other annoying creatures, Just like my neighbour, Mrs Cassidy.
By Melanie Roussel
Photo by Alexandre Debiève on Unsplash
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