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Dancing Bees

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Like dancing bees, we stumble from our hives
And bumble off in search of nectared fame;
A careless sting rips out our fumbling lives,
And worker, drone or Queen— we fare the same.

For what?  For what!  For honey in the sky?
For heaven’s combs where bee-gods whir and dance
On endless summer days; where no bees die?
Dream on; the days grow short. The sting is chance.