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judy smith Apr 2015
With designers like Iman Ahmed, HSY and Sania Maskatiya all showing, it was standing-room only at the venue. Many of the crowd of fashion insiders and socialites ended up sharing seats, with the chivalrous Zaheer Abbas giving his seat to Iman Ahmed after her show and sitting on the floor himself. So much for designer egos!

It was an evening that lived up to its billing.

Iman Ahmed may not be a designer who makes her clothing easily available, but in fashion terms she reaches heights that few other designers can reach. Her “Sartorial Philology and the New Nomad collection” was breathtaking.

The best fashion shows have a narrative — the clothes, styling, music and progression of the outfits blend seamlessly into a whole that portrays the designer’s artistic vision.

It’s hard not to gush about Iman Ahmed’s show last night because it was exactly what a fashion show should be.

Starting with a series of outfits in white and gradually adding tribal colours, Iman used fringing, embroidery and a range of fabrics to great effect. From the inspired detailing to the juxtaposition of texture and silhouette, this was a class act. The tribal white-dotted makeup and beaten silver accessories added further depth to Iman’s stunning layered ensembles.

Levi’s uninspired showing of their new 501 jeans and other stock provided the audience with a pause to process the previous collection. It’s difficult to make a interesting fashion week presentation out of high street wear and something that Levis struggles with.

They used better music than they did at their autumn show but the styling was still painfully lacking. They did manage to make everyone sit up and take notice at the end of their show though — Wasim Akram walked the ramp as their showstopper amid cheers from the admiring audience.

Somal Halepoto was next, with collection that looked distinctly amateur. She seemed to be aiming for a bright kitschy collection but ended up looking merely tacky. The shiny, synthetic-looking fabrics and gaudy embroidery were particularly woeful. Somal’s digital neon animal prints and some of the harem pants were funky but the rest of the collection had little to recommended it.

YBQ’s LalShah collection, meanwhile, was in a different league. An ode to 3 Sufi Sindhi saints, the collection was as much about the artistic impression it made on the ramp as it was about the clothes. The distinctly theatrical presentation relied on the slow beat of sufi music and plentiful accessories for much of its impact.

YBQ sent his models down the ramp in huge pagris, holding flags on poles and garlanded with prayer beads. He used only three colours - red depicting rage, white for peace and black for mourning. Most of the outfits were draped red jersey tunics or gowns with white lowers, braided belts and black turbans.

Rubya Chaudry wore a black gown with red roses but otherwise the outfits were all about subtle plays with drapery and cut. From jodhpur style chooridarsto asymmetrical draping, the outfits had interesting touches but needed all that heavy styling to make an impact. HSY was YBQ’s showstopper and added glamour to the theatrical presentation that he had choreographed.

Wardha Saleem was first up after the break and her Lotus Song collection showed how this talented young designer has been upping her game over recent years.

She used digital flamingo prints, 3D embroidery, gota embroidery and lasercutting in a pretty formal fusion collection. The detailing on the collection was simply stunning. Wardha used gota in delicate patterns that gave her outfits shimmer and paired this with three dimensional embroidery. The outfits featured flowers, fish, elephants and birds picked out in silk thread and beads.

She showed a variety of shift dresses, jackets, saris, capes and draped dresses. The styling was also great fun – the models wore shoes featuring spikes and 3D flowers while the multi-talented Tapu Javeri provided some gorgeous jewellery and music for the show. While there was nothing groundbreaking about her silhouettes, this was a beautiful collection that showed skill and artistry.

Sania Maskatiya, who presented her luxury pret on Day 1, now showed her lawn collection for AlKaram. As far as designer lawn goes, this is something of a dream collaboration.

Textile and print are Sania’s forte and she uses print extensively in her luxury pret. In this collection for Al-Karam she has taken print elements from her pret collections throughout the year including the Sakura, Lokum and Khutoot collections.

The prints are different from those used in her Luxe pret but are based on the same principals. She’s even used the paint splash embroidery from this season’s Khayaat collection in one of the outfits. Designer lawn should be affordable way to wear a designer’s aesthetic and this Sania Maskatiya Al Karam collaboration certainly is.

As for the show itself, showing lawn is always tricky on the ramp. Sania pulled it off with an upbeat presentation using fast music and trendy cuts, throwing a few conventional shalwar kameez in the mix. She fashioned the lawn into jackets, kaftans and draped tunic, using the sort of cuts that are a hallmark of her pret. It’s not how most people wear lawn but it was a great way to show off the prints on the ramp.

Naushaba Brohi’s Inaaya burst onto the fashion scene last year with a spectacular collection. Following up on a dramatic debut is difficult but Naushaba proved that she is not a one hit wonder with this collection. Inaaya’s SS15 collection continued with the theme of using traditional Sindhi crafts in contemporary wear. Naushaba used both touches of Rilli and some stunning mirror work in her collection.

What makes Inaaya noteworthy is the way that she takes unsung traditional crafts that we’ve seen badly used and gives them a high fashion twist. Standout pieces included a bolero with unusual mirror work and a rilli sari that glittered with tiny flashes of mirrors.

Although the collection included many beautiful outfits, there was a lack of focus. The simple tunic with a rilli dupatta didn’t work with knotted purple evening wear jacket. The inability to make a definitive statement let down an otherwise accomplished collection.

Naushaba added a characteristic touch at the end of her show. She’s committed to social responsibility and supports local craftswomen with her brand. Accordingly, Inaaya’s showstopper was Mashal Chaudri of the Reading Room Project along with Naushaba’s daughter Inaaya. She held up a plaque saying “I teach therefore I can” while Inaaya wore a T-Shirt with the slogan “super role model”.

HSY brought the evening to a close with a high-speed presentation of his Hi-Octance menswear collection. The unusual choreography featured the models zipping along the catwalk, pausing briefly on their second round. The energetic presentation complemented a collection of sharp suits and jackets, leavened with quirky polka dot shirts and bold stripy ties.

There was the requisite shirtless model in distressed jeans and an ice-blue jacket but also some appealing suiting fabrics. HSY used only Pakistani fabrics and included solid colours as well as self-checked and striped suits. This was wearable, classy menswear presented creatively.

Day 3 was undoubtedly the best day of TFPW so far. Iman Ahmed undoubted takes the laurels but she was ably supported by HSY, Wardha Saleem, Inaaya, Sania Maskatiya and YBQ.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses
He sleeps in evergreen trees
tying his long beard to a branch
and there he dreams of rabbit stew
wishing to snare one per chance

His emerald coat is perfect camouflage
so he lays on his shinny gold buttons
thinking of mint tea and chocolate cake
after a feast of lamb cutlets and mutton

This little greedy plump fellow
with stripy socks purple and yellow
will sing in his sleep to the birds in the tree
with a voice so sweet and so mellow

With nightfall's, he descends to the ground
making sure no human presence are around
and he speedily sifts through park litter bins
looking for cooking pots made out of tin


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Olivia Kent Jul 2013
Thylacinus Cynocephalus.
Tasmanian Tiger, Tasmanian Wolf,
A crepuscular hunting nocturnal beast,
Carnivore by nature, feasted upon wallaby,wombats and roos,
Caught by female of the species,
Was he a feline or a lupine beast, hyena perhaps,
No, this strange creature now probably extinct was marsupial with pouch,
Female with pouch to grow her young, male had pouch of his own,
Protected his crown jewels within a scrotal pouch,
Appearance of a stripy dog,
Looked rather like a tiger,
Had amber eyes filled with fire,
This diamorphic beast, (Means the chap was larger)
Had four toes on hind feet and rigid tail of kangaroo,
It's gait was rather odd,
Could move like kangaroo, if it so desired,
Strange call, a guttural sound, alerted his family when he was abound,
Shy secretive little creature,
Kept himself locked out of sight,
For in the late 188os, early 1900s these creatures had a bounty on their heads,
The bounty hunters had such fun, left our world with nearly none,
Last beast in the wild as noted,shot by gun by Mr Batty,
1936 the last captive creature died in Hobart Zoo,
Reported name was Benjamin,
Book called The Djin-jum Man, said man, Batty man maybe, was cursed for killing the last of their kin,
Poor things,
Living legacy remains,
On Tasmania's coat of arms, two of these fine beasts support the islands emblem,
Probably gone but never overlooked,
Still being sought but never found!

By ladylivvi1

© 2013 ladylivvi1 (All rights reserved)
This was really difficult, hope its quite accurate!
Olivia Kent Jun 2014
Am I to be an anemone,
with florescent blue petals,
chalky stamens hid inside,
dwelt within my calyx,
I  have waited impatiently to break free,
dusted in vibrant blue.
I digress, for I am not an anemone,
Find my only friendship in bees,
stripy buzzing vested bees,
For I am a lady locked up,
I am beginning to gush.
(C) Livvi
Olivia Kent Apr 2015
Mother knits scarves in soft wool.
Daddy creates suits in steel.
Auntie makes a mess of strings.
Played with a bow, a twiddle, a fiddle a serious riddle.
Uncle strums his guitar, while  he's coughing catarrh.
From the **** he smokes.
While playing with kippers and older men's zippers.
Pretensions of kindness, while fetching their slippers.
Money hunting, baby bunting, wrapped in boas of stripy snakes that choke, crush and strangle, dangling lust on a string, it's his sort of thing.
Uncle carbuncle, peril to both pusillanimous child and men of great age.
Daddy knows and  he's so enraged, steel suits beat the outrage of misuse and abuse, through the family and mummy knits more scarves in soft fluffy wool. ****** old fool, never does anything by halves, it's all covered up by soft fluffy wool scarves.
(C) LIVVI
Ellie Sep 2012
If you go searching through the bush
And look under some rocks,
You'll find a little fairy sprite
In bright green stripy socks.

Upon her head she wears alei
Of bright and colourful flowers.
And when it rains she collects the drops
And that is how she showers!

She wears a dress of golden silk
She's spun from cocoons in the trees,
It's glued together with native honey
She's stolen from the bees.

But if you try to trap her
And keep her for yourself,
You'll be turned into a warty toad
By her friend the elf.
A poem I wrote last year. Age 10.5
cheryl love Sep 2015
When I was growing up
we had Flowerpot Men
On the television with Little ****.
Their names were  Bill and Ben
who were very strange men indeed.

They were made out of flower pots
and had a hat on their head to match.
This strange gangly flower lived between
It was an odd sight to watch
If you've seen it you'd know what I mean.

But we were glued to the black and white screen
Watching Bill and Ben jig around their pots
Little **** had a squeaky high voice for a plant
It needed the Woodentops dog with the spots
Who used to have legs that were on a slant.

Casey Jones used to put a smile on my face
With his stripy trousers and a very big wave.
Those were the days with Watch With Mother
The happiness and enjoyment it gave
As I sit now watching Celebrity Big Brother.
Imagine waking up tomorrow and being thirteen again.
If you could go back
Would you?

Skateparks and Starbucks nights
Blue Banana and stripy tights
Apple Sourz and staying out every weekend.

Remember when Megh was emo?
When Jack was okay?
When Sid used to sing
And Jessie was a Goth?
When Josh-u-a and Jones were the cutest couple around?
Remember?

Friendships and breakups
Laughter and comfort hugs
The Forever & Ever we used to believe in.

Imagine waking up tomorrow and being thirteen again.
If you could go back
Would you?
Inspired by this photograph of my thirteen-year-old self: http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=1477783979852&l;=fbdfee4a27
Nigel Morgan Jan 2015
I know what it was before
it became what it is
I’m at a disadvantage perhaps
and must forget its ****** state
its absolute condition of whiteness
the purity of snow untrodden
unmarked except for the lines
woven in warp and weft

I don’t know how to look at this piece
if I had it in my hands I’d turn it about
this way that way upside down
even to lie on its diagonals perhaps
otherwise it appears like newsprint
smudged but I think for me its best
on its side so there are columns
not stories floors horizontal separators

There - now it has something of that
Annie Albers City Skyline
a tapestry seen together
on a January day you
blue-skirted with winter boots
grey-cloaked with stripy tights
a sketching bag on the shoulder
a camera in hand and I entranced
by every move you made

As though seeking an image
in a cloudscape I view a quintet
of panels on a painted screen
a Chinese landscape Han dynasty
stark trees slow fields low hills
rising to a darkening horizon then
a river flows a valley forms and I am
smitten by the accident of invention
as always my love as always
gathering myself into the pleasure
of it all dear artist of weave and print
http://instagram.com/p/xmAcsNqtCa/?modal=true
Annie Oct 2018
This is what I am now;
silver hoops and
wet wavy hair.
Naked.
Tan lines and stripy scars.
More bright thoughts than dark.
With a star, a chain and some string.
Broken wrist,
quelque fois je suis triste.
Big big family,
small small dreams.
I write a poem every time I turn another year older; here is eighteen years old.
Olivia Kent Jun 2014
Over the clouds envisage the crowds,
They're milling as ants in their bright stripy pants,
waving and pointing,
Sun bites their eyes,
they're squinting,
concentrate on the aircraft filled skies,
they dance in formation,
the planes that is,
all through the skies,
they are red as flying pillar boxes,
darting rapidly,
almost as if they're wanting to catch the mail.
English tails of red white and blue,
I so used to love them,
How about you?
(C) Livvi
Maxine Jul 2018
Your stripy jumper will have to do,
but please know my heart will be searching for you.
Out on her voyage through the hidden sea of stars.
I hope we cross paths and marry upon mars.
Love
Eloisa Jul 2019
My dreamland’s gateway
opens up a gorgeous field of flowers
And there at its center proudly sways
In stripy purplish-pink is a handsome wildflower
I do adore those wild and free
though I love all kinds of blooms and hold no preference
And when I saw him in his fragrant sanctuary
I felt a kind of reverence
And among those beauty of its kind
I surely won’t forget
The sweetest moment when he smiled
The wondrous time when we’ve first met
Simon Soane Aug 2016
Perspective is strange,
it encompasses
many a range,
like when I see Poppet the ****
my joy soars with bliss,
sweet tabby cats don't come much better than this;
I want to hear you purr,
you ace stripy rocket,
I love you lots, Poppet.
But then, to mice it's,
Is that terror getting near
should we plan a run,
torturing us to death
is her idea of fun,
she'll wreak with clawing havoc
& deadly feline mirth,
she'll eat us as she's smiling
& extinguish us from earth;
you're toxic, Poppet.
The juxtapose of difference
stampeding in the air,
to one she rests in bed,
to others coiled in lair.
maybella snow Jul 2013
~ ice cream cones
                  stripy tights
   tinted sunglasses

          desperate pain
  aching heart
           thinly spread love

i need you x ~
Olivia Kent May 2014
The stars upon the canvas, spotted dotted, painted white,
Night sky crisp with dreamer's dreams, streaming through the sky,
Can you interpret these flying dreams?
Dancing through the scheme of things,
Oh look, there's a pretty one wearing candy pink,
There's a rugby players dream, decked in a stripy shirt,
A babies dream wriggled slightly by,
not fully able to understand,
Catching dreams of babies, is in such great demand,
In dreams of innocence, and chuckling smiles, so tiny, they make not much sense.
Along trips a nightmare, a terror of war,
hold on tight, the fiery steed of passion scares,
What was caught in your dreams last night, can you remember?
(C) Livvi
Paul Hansford Apr 2018
All round my hat I wear a lot of badges,
all round my hat, for many and many a day.

A disc of abalone shell from New Zealand;
a jester’s mask decorated with four glittering glass jewels (Venice,
though we weren’t there for the carnival) :
the Stars and Stripes, given to me in New York
in the weeks after 9/11, when you could hardly move
for huge examples of the national flag;
three lions, for England;
a bull, for Spain, even though I hate bull-fighting;
a liner (Alaska Cruise,2000, but we've done other cruises) :
and a gold-coloured jet plane, for all the journeys we have made;
a small badge of a very large statue, Christ the Redeemer (Rio) :
the seashell of St James, with his special cross on it
(Santiago de Compostela, though we didn’t walk the Camino) :
a very tiny badge of the ****** of Guadalupe in Mexico;
and a shiny gold-coloured outline of a dove
(Carcassonne cathedral) representing the Holy Spirit;
King Kong, my biggest badge, appropriately:
a smaller-scale hero, Winnie-the-Pooh, a gift from my daughter:
a koala decorated in crushed opal (Australia) :
a stripy cat on a tartan ribbon (Edinburgh) :
a dolphin from the Azores, though we didn’t see any there,
(but we have seen dolphins, so it counts twice) :
a miniature cookie-cutter in the shape of a moose (Canadian rockies)  
– but it would make impossibly small cookies;
a toucan (Costa Rica) and a puffin (Iceland)
admiring each other’s beaks;
heroes of the Revolution: Chairman Mao, bought in Beijing:
the Hồ Chí Minh League of Youth badge (Vietnam) :
the star representing Yugoslavia,
though even when I bought it
Yugoslavia was no longer a country;
the face of Che Guevara, looking handsome and intense (Cuba) :
and not forgetting the daddy of them all,
Lenin, on a red and flaming star;
the Hand of Fatima (Tunisia) for luck;
and the Eye of Horus (Egypt) ,
because you can’t have too much luck.

And if anybody asks me the reason why I wear them,
they remind me of places – and people – that are far, far away.
Unpolished Ink Dec 2020
I kept them for years
those fingerless stripy gloves
a last little link with my mother
who was a diva with the needles
the yellow strands of wool joining us together
in a beautifully knitted chain
although she is long gone from this world,
I found comfort in them once again today
although many years have passed
and I noticed her hands coming out of my sleeves
This is a personal one- how we turn into our parents. The gloves were her final pair before illness robbed her of everything.
It’s a heat that skims
off from the ground
and soaks the bones.
Music burrows
into the ears of suited men,
eating calorie-clogged burgers,
dripping onions
and then you’re in
a restaurant with blue tiles
hugging someone you haven’t seen
in six years
and time slips as treacle
under lights
in the bowl you sit in
with UFO’s blooming on the ceiling
like mammary flowers
and there’s a woman
with a bra on her head,
blonde hair like a mini blizzard
as for a moment
a throng of teenagers
in stripy socks
share sweat to Fleetwood Mac,
bees shimmying at something pretty.
It’s a scene you couldn’t picture,
except you could,
everybody has their phone out,
a flurry of colours
and drumming that drums
into your skull
like a shot of adrenaline.
Businessmen outside
swallow wine,
sit on the tube with blue ties
and rustle
the Evening Standard and its headlines
streaked with gloom.
Ticking towards Tuesday,
another man
eats another burger.
The hours pass,
the heat stays,
the music remains.
Written: June 2017.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time. On 19th June 2017, I went to the Royal Albert Hall in London to watch the band Paramore perform. It was a very warm day. The first few lines of this poem were written in a McDonald's close to Euston station. The rest was written on a train travelling away from London late on Monday evening. During the day I saw an old school friend who works at a restaurant at the venue, saw lead singer Hayley Williams perform with a fan's bra on her head, and what with it being London, witnessed many a businessman in a suit. All feedback welcome. A link to my Facebook writing page can be found on my HP home page.
NOTE: Many of my older pieces will be removed from HP at some point in the future.
Me May 2015
A shadow of a shadow of a shadow casts
His long dark head
across my feet
And floods the floor.

But with a wink I shoot
A ray of light along the ground
That creeps toward his shape and slams the door.

The darkness shrieks
And grows a little weaker;
and as it starts to part I feel
My nose does bleed
My hands do shake until -
Eager to run -
I lift a  shaking leg

Now suddenly the shadow moves;
It moves toward the curtain
Spreads  out ten thin long lines to reach the spot
But fails
And stumbles back

The two of us
Keep fighting for a while
I carry his grey marks under my skin

My shins are stripy black
He lost an eye.

Eventually the sun
Shows its bald head
And my friend starts to fade;

Smaller and smaller he becomes
And quiet
Then, with a simple single beat
He leaves;

No shady warrior
No riot

And he leaves me behind.
Hello poetry friends
Could you please check out the last line and tell me how it sounds?
I m unsure about it.
Thanks!
Oh dance my marionette
Dance on this stage
The whole world is just a
deception
Dance in this chance
Make me happy
Make them happy
I will laugh...
I will laugh
At the wings of angle
Hugging you
Taking you to a safer place
Cos playing with dolls is ''death''
I will laugh
At my walking
On silky feet
As you wished for
One day you'll touch the clouds
It makes no difference
What the color of our sky is
We shouted
Prisoners' singing in you eyes is
not a ''sin''
In your colorful illusion,
They draw the image of the silent
movement of the clouds in the
colorful sky.
She was playing bells
They lose the anthem
Her silent is insulting
Their silent is insulting
We do not create crime
And we take captives
And we do not have freedom
And we take captives
When that time comes ?
The time that a plant grows from
the crack of the hard stripy.
They don't want the smile
And I will laugh
At the good days
At the sunny days
At the shade of the trees that are gone
That will make you laugh
I swear I will laugh


عروسک خیمه شب بازی من
برقص
در این میدان برقص
تمام دنیا فریب است
در این فرصت برقص
شادم کن
شادشان بکن
...من خواهم خندید
من خواهم خندید
به بال های فرشته ای
که تو را در آغوش می گیرد
به جایی امن تر خواهد برد
که بازی عروسک ها
مرگ است
من خواهم خندید
به راه رفتن
روی توک پاهای ابریشمیم
که تو منتظرش بودی
روزی ابرها را لمس خواهی کرد
فرقی نمی کند
اگر آسمان ما
چه رنگ باشد
زندانیان که گناه نمی کنند
اگر در چشمان تو آواز خواندند
تصویر ساکت ابرهای در حال حرکت را
در آسمان های رنگارنگ
در خیال رنگی تو می کشند
بلز می زد
سرودها را گم می کنند
سکوتش فحش است
سکوتشان فحش است
ما جنایت نمی آفرینیم و
اسیر می کنیم
ما آزادی نداریم و
اسیر می کنیم
کی می رسد که اگر از شکاف
راه راه های سخت
گیاهی بروید
تبسم نمی خواهند
و من خواهم خندید
به روزهای خوب
به روزهای آفتابی
به سایه های درختانی که رفته اند
که تو را خواهند خنداند
به خدا خواهم خندید
Me Aug 2014
A shadow of a shadow of a shadow casts
His long dark hat
across my feet
And floods the floor.

But with a wink I shoot
A ray of light along the ground
That creeps toward his shape and slams the door.

The darkness shrieks
And grows a little weaker;
and as it starts to part I feel
My nose does bleed
My hands do shake until -
Eager to run -
I lift a  shaking leg

Now suddenly the shadow moves;
It moves toward the curtain
Spreads  out ten thin long lines to reach the spot
But fails
And stumbles back

The two of us
Keep fighting for a while
I carry his grey marks under my skin

My shins are stripy black
He lost an eye.

Eventually the sun
Shows its bald head
And my friend starts to fade;

Smaller and smaller he becomes
And quiet
Then, with a simple single beat
He leaves;

No shady warrior
No riot

And he leaves me behind.
I can make a stripy cake mixture with your ingredients
I can paint a fluid rainbow rich with your dreams
I want to make purple tea for your lips only
And nourish your loving with my heart's golden juice

I walk, I skip, I run to you
Your shoulder takes my tired mind
In sunlight and through rain you glow, bright as rainbow colours
You have become my incredible absolute everything
You move in circles through my heart and through my mind

The intensity of your sacred smile
The depth of your royal laugh
I cry with joy, the tears spilling over
Shaping a river that brings me to you

In a boat made of deep red solid love
Our arms are my oars
Our liquid love my journey
You are my destination, my journey's beginning and end.
Mary Gay Kearns Jun 2018
Prattlebag  and Whistle were two tom cats
One was all stripy the other was all black
They were part of a trio born in late May
The girly sold first with a bright yellow bow.

The two lads were playful the curtains did pull
Dethreaded the settee but habitat have them still
Uprooted the rose bushes with those front paws
Trampled the daffodils so they dance no more.

But when in the evening the clouds come down
And darkness falls in their grassy playground
Through the cat -flap, come quickly, the kitty cats
Placing themselves down to sleep on the mat.

For my grandchildren
Love Grandma **
Jackie Mead Nov 2020
Bee
My name is simply, Bee.
I am a honeybee and live in a colony, serving our most royal Queen Bee.
I am long in body, stripy black and gold in colour, a pair of transparent wings at my side.
I buzz around woodlands and meadows nearby, pollinating flora as I fly.
Producing lavender honey; lavender plants are found in abundance where I live.
Hovering, dipping inside, collecting the nectar before returning to the beehive.
I lay the nectar in a honeycomb, inside my beehive home.
Providing nourishment for the apiary, I am a remarkably busy honeybee.

Busy, Busy
Buzzing, buzzing, buzzing
Queen Bee, Worker Bee, Bumble bees, Honeybees.
Harvesting, pollinating, nesting.
Producing Wax and Honey.

Frog and I have many adventures together with our dear friend Mr. Mouse.
Mr. Mouse who has a house on the River Louse.
I hope one day soon you will read about our adventures in a book.
Penned by a dear human friend Jacqueline Mead, we hope you find it an exceedingly good read.

— The End —