Worker Bee Sees a Hare
To drone,
I have in a world
filled with prospered humanity.
Like a worker bee I
ready the honey in which
my society cares for;
I have grown tired of the strains
born upon my
labor;
although the smells I love,
it is never enough.
And the satisfaction returned is
forgotten, for fire
always triumphs the solace
that defeats the situation.
The hares that cower and stare
at this worker bee in his
working state;
a car with one route,
for two teenagers who wish for a
denoument.
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