Like trains of cars on tracks of plush
I hear the level bee
A jar across the flowers goes
Their velvet masonry
Withstands until the sweet a**ault
Their chivalry consumes
While he, victorious, tilts away
To vanquish other blooms
His feet are shod with gauze
His helmet is of gold
His breast, a single onyx
With chrysoprase, inlaid
His labor is a chant
His idleness a tune
Oh, for a bee's experience
Of clovers and of noon!