No Sting
So glad
The rose
To ope,
To close,
And ope
Again
For rain.
So glad
The cloud
To roar
So loud,
And pour
A-main
The rain.
But Bee,
He sad;
But Bee,
He mad;
He be
A bee
In vain.
But Boy,
He laugh,
And Boy,
He sing;
He hath
No sting
But rain.
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