Tumdy dah, what a lovely car, under the tree, covered in bees, flapping wings, knocking knees.
Stingers ready, curled tenderly.
Watch them swarm into the sky, like a flying mat, or a hair net flung.
Flick of the wrist and they are all gone.
A black mist in the air, not a care,
as they fly away to over there.
Build a new hive for the queen,
forgetting all about where they have been.
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