Honey Bee

If ever a regal, majestic queen there be,
It's the one that's spelled B-E-E.
Her workers all toil for her approval
(Though some princess bees toil for her removal).

But the queen keeps the hive together,
And oversees all the pollen-gather.
And in the end, though it be runny,
Is the fruit of their labor: sweet, sweet honey.

In my hive, which is like a home,
There are four bees all under one dome.
Two are workers, who really don't do the toils,
And one is a drone that works for the spoils.

And there's the great and glorious queen,
One unlike any you may have otherwise seen.
She's a honey bee, if ever a honey could bee,
And her stinger of love is stuck in the heart of me.