The bumblebee flew lazily and crazily through the yard.
Nectar that he just imbibed, was strangely sweet and hard.
Easy to mistake it was, the straw, with plastic flower.
Due he was, back to the hive, and quite late was the hour.
The sweetest honey this would make, this nectar so divine.
All he knew, on this spring day, he felt so very fine.
The Queen will likely knight him, he'll be Sir. Bumblebee.
For now, though, he does somersaults, and flies so wild and free.
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| Writing Prompt |
Write an eight line poem about a bumblebee who accidentally sipped some wine on his/her rounds through the flower garden. All poetic forms are invited. |
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