Metamorphic holiday
Gone as grub but winged today
Honey-dripping hexagons
Fatal sting, to thy dismay
Do not tell my brother Skip
What you did upon your trip
Often when we hear the bells
He knows that our tea foretells
It was close, one day at noon
Secrets might unravel soon
I made his leaves completely mute
Ruined by this honeyed spoon
Mother's son, who isn't me,
Will die before those eyeballs see
These basement honeycombs are yours
And thou art actually a bee