(With apologies to the Bard!)

 

A bee, or not a bee - that was the question

Whether I’m to be nobbled so unkind

By the stings that harrow with outraged attention

Of hornet, bee or wasp

Or take harm from all three redoubled

And then propose to end them.

They’ll fly, and creep no more

As by a sweep of hand they meet their end.

The headache of the thousand that will flock

To pierce the flesh, impairing, in a confirmation

Stoutly to be swished at. To cry, to weep -

To weep or even scream. Aye there’s the trouble

For as we weep, our breath with screams may come,

Till we have puffed because our breathing spoils

To give us cause. And we expect

To keep live hopes of amity throughout our life