The bandA Poem by SorenTiny bees that don't bite or sting, like the mocking bird they only sing In tiny tubes of wax, protected they relax, playing on musical wing Inside their hum, off walls a resounding drum, nature's melody marching band flying scrum as out they come, silent symphony As they gather in a flying lather, they beckon suns rays to paint spring so tiny a soul who's only goal is honey, made of silent songs, for all to bring A cloud they spin without a din, moving periods in a sentence unsaid Moving off in space, a vanishing face, messages of nature unread
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3 Reviews Added on August 26, 2025 Last Updated on August 26, 2025 |

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