iamthewizard2

The sunray scorches its compass point, And the insect joint mobiles; Squirms and fidgets the dealer dance. But amongst the traffic of colours, Clamped and clawed on arolias, Hunched on the surface of a birch, A bee is buzzing. Its pear shaped propellers Clumsy, clattering in wind.   Compound eyes like round goggles, Check the weathered gear.   While feathered royal coats nest the neck, And sparse the black and yellow rear. The engine isn’t without exhaustion it thought. As it rested its stock of pollen;   A fortune for kings and queens to wallow. And yet there were more a bargain still, To find and claim and swallow.