I tried to cut the wind once
But no mater how hard I slashed
It was all a futile effort
In the end I was abashed

It grew angry with me
It's patience grew so thin
Then the cold wind cut right through me
as if foolishness was my only sin

I was a busy bee in clover
I would hover above the pretty flowers
Drinking their sweet nectar in
and passing away the hours

The blossoms were so many
The fields so ever wide
I shared all of my golden pollen
From petal to petal
I flied

Some flowers tried to hold me
Their alluring scents filled the air
They dazzled in many colors
Sashayed with seductive flare

Then they tried to finger me
Tried to attach their silky strings
But when they thought they could handle me
I let them have my sting

Buzz off . . .