Prose with no nose
Bees with no knees
It's going around
It's quite the disease
Twilight whispers against
Old, weary, tired moons
Sitting back in their recliners
Barely able to lift their pipes
Bowls full of herb and spice
Through chapped lips
And scratchy breaths
They tell their stories
(prose with no nose)
Cyclical reprise
Cascading disease
About bees with no knees