I smell a queen bee drenched in alcohol!
Dried up and soaked into a cotton ball!
One whiff and suddenly she is my queen bee!
Now I spend my life making a spoonful of honey!

Within every motion is a consequence,
     for with wings there is motion.
Disturbing the flow of the world around it.

For with a sting there is but one consequence,
              a flutter of tasteful demise for oneself.
The pain on the other is fleeting,
                   for life was about on point.

But when a thousand wings flutter,
                       they move more than mountains.
for a breath when made by the many can influence
                        more than just a point made in anger.

A humble bumble bee
By the name of Timothy
Flies friskily through the trees
And sways smoothly with the breeze
For the wisping winds of winter
Are coming in a beat
So he must flee to be free
From the cold or he might freeze
So he flies to someplace warm
To a garden by the sea
Where a humble bumble bee
Can go to be a bee